


Displaced

by Lessa



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Magic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 07:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lessa/pseuds/Lessa
Summary: Merlin has a destiny to return magic to the land of Albion, but has become side tracked by someone else's destiny, uniting the kingdoms.Out late one night he is involved in an accident and must find his way back from a very different land, before Morgana destroys everything he loves, or finds him.





	Displaced

He opened his eyes slowly, goddess his head hurt. Had he been drinking? No. No, Gwaine was away and he only ever drank with the big hearted rogue. Bandits then? Oh how he loathed bandits, annoying, reckless, and fuck it stung afterwards.

Slowly the mental fog began to lift. He checked himself for injuries. Nothing broken, no blood, no rope burn… not bandits either then. Something was wrong. He felt around cautiously with his magic. Yep. Something was very, very wrong. Last thing he recalled it had been night, dark, and he’d been alone, hadn’t he? Why was he alone at night, outside again...ah fuck it, too many possibilities. Morgana? No. Not her, he’d been frustrated, not worried or angry. Kilgarrah then. Crap. That was it. He’d been out again visiting the blasted lizard, not even for a good reason really, more a social call than a favour, except for the flight, as much as ‘Garrah insisted he wasn’t a horse Merlin knew he enjoyed the time with his Lord as much as he himself needed his soul brother. They had definitely flown together, and stayed out far longer than was advisable. Damn dragon had landed somewhere unfamiliar and chuckled, that really should have been a tip-off that something was about to go horribly awry. An amused dragon was _never_ a good sign. Still high on the experience of flying Merlin’s suspicions hadn’t even twitched. He let his head fall back for a moment and just breathed, expanding his senses. That was odd, he was definitely in the same _place_ he’d been abandoned by the traitorous flying wretch, but it _felt wrong._ Dulled somehow, muffled. The ground was too hard, the air wasn’t clean, and it was a different kind of taint to the malignant magic that was left by a battle. The earth was _wrong_ but it was not scorched, and nothing had burned recently- ah!  There had been a light. Bright, non- magical, or at least unlike any magic _he’d_ met before, one he hadn’t then?

 

He didn’t find an answer.

 

Merlin was out of time for dithering though, because wherever he was there were voices, and voices meant people; people didn’t like unexplained things, saw it as threatening, and he sure as shit didn’t have a reasonable explanation for them. He felt weak certainly but magic would keep him on his feet as long as he needed it to, and he knew he’d fought battles in a far worse state. Get up. He willed his limbs to obey, and reluctantly they did. Focus. He needed to focus. Too much, too quickly, adrenaline again flooding his body as he looked around, it was too much, too fast. He needed it to slow down, so it did. Around him everything just _stopped_ . Every sound, every movement, well it had been a long time since he slipped like that, but looking around Merlin was trying to fight off a panic attack as he realised he was not just in a different place but a different world. Wherever he _was_ he realised how woefully unprepared he was to deal with it. The road he’d lain next to was wider than any he’d seen and made of something equally unfamiliar. He could see buildings but they looked equally bizarre, too tall to stand freely, or too fragile to stand at all. Well, he’d seen plenty of things that didn’t make sense, this was just one more wasn’t it…

Turning he properly looked at the sources of the voices which had so panicked him and wondered if he might not have been right to do so. The clothes were not in a style he’d seen before, not on any of the visiting dignitaries, or fleeing peasants, or crazed witches, not druid garb either. One clear leader in a distinctive coat, one behind him looking protective- his own equivalent he supposed. The others were unclear, all confident though and with the distinct carriage that he had learned to associate with a warrior on guard, though not intending to attack.

 

Allegiance unknown.

 

Weaponry unknown.

Skill level unknown.

 

Lost Warlock.

 

Well he wasn’t an idiot, whatever Arthur claimed and clearly this was not an encounter to conduct whilst effectively hungover. Perhaps later, he got the feeling these people were not the type to give up a target, and in the stillness he could easily see that the eyes of the leader and his shadow were fixed on _him._ He knew that look too well. Definitely time to disappear.

 

Gathering his power was soothing as he cloaked himself in a concealment and silencing spell, before letting go his grip on time. They blinked and the leader let out a hiss, checking something on his wrist. Gods he hoped that wasn’t some artifact he was supposed to retrieve or master. It didn’t buzz though, or itch, so he doubted it. For a moment, before he turned the first corner he saw, Merlin was certain that their leader looked directly at him, but the confusion was clear in his expression so at least the illusion was holding.

He walked for an hour without direction, only with the aim of remaining undetected by the unknown group who were _definitely_ trying to track him, with more success than any of Camelot’s guards he had to grant. He finally admitted to himself that there was no immediately obvious answer and that he needed to address basic needs and find information. He discovered in the first shop he hid in that money was going to be a problem. Even if he had brought the little coin he owned it would not have been accepted for goods, and he would rather not draw any attention to himself.

The second thing he discovered was that his clothes were radically different from the everyday garb of the local people. Anyone could see that he was a traveller who didn’t belong, even before he opened his mouth. He may _understand_ much of the language and intent, but he certainly couldn’t speak it, and the writing was different, which placed him in a very difficult position. Ideally he’d learn the language naturally but that required time he did not have. After trying to come up with a less morally dubious solution Merlin sighed and accepted that he was out of options, he’d just have to mentally skim the minds of those around him to learn it and collect vocabulary. He couldn’t very well ask anyway. He’d been sitting in a shaded bench doing just that when a blonde man came and sat next to him, Merlin cast a glance at him, middle aged, correct garb but with definite intent. He wasn’t out of place as the warlock was, but he had a motive. Shit, he was so sure he’d lost those guys too, apparently he’d missed one, and he’d lifted the ‘notice me not’ when he sat down in order to avoid being sat on. Damn.

 

He looked up properly when he realised that the blonde was saying something to him and holding out what might be a flask. Was he supposed to recognise this man? Merlin had been slightly more cautious after his first introduction to Prince Arthur, if only to avoid being known as ‘idiot’ to yet more people. He berated himself as he realised his attention had wandered again, concentrate on the words! At least they made more sense now. Drink. He was being offered a drink, from a flask, by someone he didn’t know.

He shook his head, holding up a hand, “No. You first.” Contrary to Merlin’s expectation the man broke into a grin and obligingly took a first drink, enough to be convincing, and noted the younger man looking intently at his pupils. “I think Sherlock would like you. Not many want proof of not being trapped.” Merlin raised an eyebrow at that, a different world indeed, though who ‘Sherlock’ was he had no idea.

John Watson wasn’t a genius, or a natural at deduction, but even he could guess that the kid hadn’t enough to pay for lunch, and he looked as underfed as his flatmate did. Sherlock had said he wouldn’t be long, without giving a satisfactory explanation, but he was well able to find his way to a cafe alone, so John sent a text to inform him of where to find them when he was done. There was _something_ about the kid, and it was bugging him. There was a good chance that Sherlock could identify what it was.

He turned to face the young man who reminded him so strongly of Sherlock. “Come on kid, let me get you some lunch, you look half starved and I could use the company now my flatmate’s found something more interesting.” The fond look indicated to Merlin that the frustration was actually borne of the same complex type of friendship he shared with Arthur. Genuine annoyance tempered with a warm acceptance.

Hoping his modern English was adequate for testing so thoroughly without frequent obvious skimming Merlin nodded. “Stop calling me ‘Kid’ and you’ve got some. A good friend of mine taught me to never turn down free food, I’d hate to disappoint his efforts. Well, some of them anyway.” He offered his benefactor a half smile, “You’ll have to choose where though, I’m new to the area.” And ain’t that the understatement of the reign Merlin internally chuckled.

John had no problems doing so, in fact it was a nice change to have someone asking for _his_ preference for once. “I thought you might be. Been travelling long? You look like you could use a shower and about a week of sleep.” Merlin decided to ignore the use of ‘shower’, clearly the man was not talking about rain,

“Well, I sort of lost track.” He offered a self deprecating look, “and I don’t sleep much these days. Half habit by now I think.” John looked again at the young man and for the first time noticed not the tiredness or apparent soreness, but the shadows haunting the deceptively young face. He’d been a soldier and recognised that look, he tried not to sleep too much either.

He wasn’t Sherlock, he didn’t need to know details of other people’s nightmares so cleared his throat and pointedly _didn’t_ ask any questions.

“Well I think there are a few places around here that do coffee, you seem a little on edge so maybe one of the quieter ones. A few streets back there was a cafe, though I can’t say whether it’s any good, I’m not from around here any more than you are.” For a second Merlin worried that he’d make a mistake in trusting the man, but no, he didn’t seem to mean the wrongness, so it must just be the dress sense, or perhaps his speech wasn’t as good as he’d hoped.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow inviting an elaboration on that.

“The accent is genuine mate, I’m not a local.” John didn’t comment on how strange it was for the young man not to notice it himself. A wry smile tugged at Merlin’s lips as he considered that. Geographically he knew he wasn’t far from the land he’d left, as his head cleared he’d begun to search for the ley lines and been shocked to find they were in the _proper_ places,  but in every other way the older man was a hell of a lot more ‘local’ than he was. Not that that was something to point out.  Especially before he had eaten.

“So what should I call you?” John grimaced, he’d become accustomed to listening to the _words_ used through paying attention to Sherlock’s tendency to leave himself loopholes, and the boy hadn’t asked for his _name_ , interesting. “John. I prefer to answer to my actual name unless it’s Sherlock pulling some bizarre stunt.” Merlin simply raised a brow, this Sherlock person sounded interesting. “And you? What shall I call you then if ‘Kid’ is so offensive?”

Merlin grimaced and thought for a moment, he had too many names already dammit, least legendary or illegal then. “Well more people call me Idiot than anything else really, but I prefer Merlin.” He flashed John a grin and hoped it was disarming enough to discourage further identity related questions. “You mentioned food, shall we go and find some before your Sherlock comes looking for you then. I have a rather keen interest of getting inside before it starts raining.” Merlin gestured at the sky, which had obligingly become overcast surprisingly quickly, but John didn’t notice. “Ah, good idea. It’s been far too long since I stopped for coffee and actually got to drink it, I’m beginning to think it’s a new way Sherlock’s trying out to torment me. If it is I will be hiding his nicotine patches when we get back to London!” Coffee, nicotine patches, and London must be new thought Merlin, but clearly this John thought he was joking so he obligingly chuckled anyway.

John grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled the boy to his feet, setting off at a brisk pace.

“Oi! Slow down will you, it’s just rain, you are not starch to dissolve.” John just stared at him a moment and groaned.

“Oh fuck, not another bloody chemist! Lestrade would be pissing himself laughing if he knew I was taking another black haired, pale, skinny man, who apparently likes science, out for coffee. I’d never hear the end of it.” Merlin allowed the confusion to show on his face.

“You share several physical characteristics with Sherlock, and he sees the science in _everything_ , although he has about 15 years on you and an adrenaline addiction.” Well Merlin knew what addiction was, he’d seen it as physician’s assistant and Gwaine’s friend,  perhaps adrenaline was new too. He desperately wanted to ask, Gaius would be fascinated. Of course he’d also smack him for getting stuck here in the first place and asking questions.

“I see.” He didn’t, but apparently John thought he was being obvious.

John caught his eye and smiled, “No you don’t, but you’re far too young for me even if you   _were_ my type.” Oh! Ooh, apparently _that_ was new too, no one in Camelot or Escetia would _ever_ have dared make a throwaway comment about _that_ topic. Merlin was beginning to feel out of his depth here, maybe he should have observed longer. “For godsake don’t spook kid. I’ve no agenda but to get food into someone cold and skint, and maybe a bit of conversation. If I can’t get my idiot of a flatmate to eat something during cases at least I can feed _you_ .” Skint. Huh. He dipped into John’s public mind to find the meaning of that word, catching ‘adrenaline’ at the same time. Well he couldn’t argue there, he was ‘skint’ in his own world _and_ this one apparently.

“There.” John pointed out a small place on the corner, which smelled pungent and pleasant.

Merlin’s traitorous stomach growled loudly and he rolled his eyes. He may be able to near enough live off magic, but his body certainly noticed when he had to resort to it.

Merlin chose a seat as far away from the large windows as possible, there were lights which didn’t burn but were not magic either, and he was still hiding, he couldn’t afford the risk of being seen for something stupid like this. John didn’t comment, wondering if it was avoidance of triggers or something else. Ah well, Sherlock would approve anyway given his homeless network, and John had carefully watched Merlin since finding him, his eyes were normal and responsive, if oddly coloured, there were no tremors or slurring, to the best of his knowledge the kid was clean and sober.

“What do you fancy? I’m buying.” Good, thought Merlin, because _I_ certainly can’t. Yet.

“Something hot please, savoury.” He didn’t know enough about current eating habits to be more specific, he knew some peoples abhorred eating animal flesh, others Gaius had informed him, lived on little else. Right now he was hungry enough to eat most things. Apparently ripping a hole in some sort of veil left one feeling rather ravenous. He was certain now that that was what had happened, somehow. He was equally certain that _that_ was not a good thing.

Well since the kid didn’t specify vegetarian thought John, he reckoned something with bacon was a good bet. Everyone liked bacon. It was way past breakfast so he picked out a panini and a pastry thing, ordering a pot of tea and hoped it was strong, and some (hopefully drinkable) coffee for himself. Coffee had seemed to make Merlin cringe. God maybe Sherlock _was_ rubbing off on him.

Merlin’s eyes darted about, taking in everything, he _needed_ to figure out where he was and what had happened, he wasn’t in Avalon, he appeared to be in the same _space_ he’d been with Kilgarrah last night, so somehow this was overlaid on that reality. Oh how he wished he’d paid better attention to those sections of his books. He swore to himself that as soon as he got back he would study until his eyes bled. There was no sign of Seelie, unseelie, trolls, goblins, pixies, Sidhe, magical illusions. The world around him was solid, tangible, human, and utterly foreign. The blinding light had been like an explosion, but he didn’t remember it being painful, or loud, more like a tearing of cloth. Shit. Oh shitshitshitshit. Veils. He remembered vaguely reading about veils between worlds, between realities, and dismissing it because it was boring, theoretical, and based entirely on speculation. Arthur was right, he _was_ an idiot. Forgetting where he was he groaned loudly and put his head in his hands. The worst bit of all of it was that now he had to consider ‘the balance’.. Oh _how_ he hated the balance of the old religion, it never seemed to like him either. Yet apparently he was one of the anchor points it rested upon. He didn’t belong here, was alone, and had _no_ idea how to get back.  Someone nudged him. “Merlin? Hey, no sleeping yet, not before you eat that.” He opened his eyes to see a plate with something that smelled amazing, not something he’d had before but Arthur ate things everyday that he’d never tried before. He glanced across the table at John to see he had his own food. Not for sharing then. Merlin smiled.

“Thank you John.” He carefully tried it, not wishing to appear as though it was not his usual fare, and couldn’t help the moan of pleasure when he first bit into it. John snorted.

“You’re welcome. Sounds like you needed it.” Merlin didn’t answer, focusing instead on the meal. Where he came from you didn’t waste good food, and he’d known hunger enough during childhood to know not to take your next meal for granted. He was still guarded, and daren’t linger too long in one place. That was never wise. The longer one remained still, the more likely people were to remember you.

John’s phone buzzed as a blonde waitress brought over their tea and coffee, as she set it down Merlin flashed her a proper grin and she blushed prettily as he thanked her. As she left and he turned back to the older man he saw John hiding a smile behind his steaming mug, “Oh, shut up.” Merlin blushed himself as John laughed. “Oh don’t hold back on my account _Merlin_.”

The younger man sighed, it was too dangerous to court anyone in his own world, let alone take up any _invitations_ in this one. Instead he tried to distract his companion.

“So if you aren’t local what brings you here?”

John grimaced. “Work, sort of. Not _my_ work, well at least not the thing I’m paid for. Sherlock was summoned to a case which is apparently a nine, so dragged me along, but as it turns out I don’t have sufficient clearance to know most of the interesting details, which is more frustrating than just staying in London and answering a string of nonsensical texts.” Merlin was grinning when John paused.

“I have a...friend...like that. Drags me everywhere, insists I’m an incompetent idiot yet refuses to leave me at home when he’s sent to some godforsaken place. I’m never quite sure whether he realises how much he needs me, or just gets kicks out of trying to make me miserable. Arrogant sod of a man, but he’s _my_ arrogant sod.”

John raised his mug to Merlin, “To arrogant sods then, long may they avoid unnecessary injury.” At the boy’s questioning glance John shrugged, “I’m a doctor by trade, my flatmate is my most frequent and least co-operative patient.” No you aren’t, thought Merlin. Not really. He kept the observation to himself, he knew a knight when he saw one, even if they had extra skills. He gleaned from the surface of John’s mind that a doctor was a physician and felt a kinship that shocked him.

“I was training in medicine for a while, not that I’ll ever reach Gaius’ level, but I’m pretty good at small fixes and field medicine now.” John nodded, interest pricked, emergency medicine was its own discipline. “Was? What happened?” Merlin gave him a long, searching look, shaking his head slightly, “I’ll let you know when I have the answer.” John knew a polite refusal and let it go, there were so many odd things about this man, Sherlock would have a field day.

His phone buzzed again, and again.

Merlin gestured towards it with his teaspoon, his food gone already, “What’s that?” John of course didn’t understand, “Uh, my flatmate, he’s not best known for his patience.” He shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Oh go on, just answer the man. If he’s anything like the prat he’ll just keep buzzing until you do.” Merlin watched closely as John lifted the small black box and began to press different points on it swiftly and carefully. He couldn’t ask _what_ it was as several people in the cafe appeared to have something similar, paying different levels of attention to them, he’d be expected to recognise them. Not good.

He added white powder to his tea as he’d observed John add it to his coffee and wondered what exactly it was, but at this stage the risk of being seen for himself by not mimicking those around him was greater than the risk of ingesting a small amount of unknown powder that he’d already witnessed being safely consumed.

The tea seemed to help, though Merlin had no idea why that should  be the case. It also left him halfway through realising that he had no idea how to survive in this world when he had to skim the world ‘toilet’ and it’s symbol from John, who thankfully didn’t seem to notice his lack of manners by doing so. Merlin excused himself and tried not to look as though all of this was new to him.

On his return he found John bickering with a dark haired  man in a long coat. Must be the flatmate who dragged him from London then. “Hello.” Merlin slid back into place and drained his cup, noting the intense gaze of this ‘Sherlock’. He placed the cup down on the tray and met his eyes easily. He had stared down Kilgarrah, Morgana, Nimue; this stranger had _nothing_ on them.

“Really? Your intimidation look needs work. No need for jealousy either, your kind friend here offered me a warm meal, and as I said, I’d be a fool to turn down free food on a day like today. If your business is finished I’ll just be going so that you two can catch up. Thank you John for your excellent hospitality.” He ducked his head politely and pulled on his jacket when Sherlock caught his arm.

“No.” The voice was deep and implacable, at a guess from working with Arthur if he disappeared he’d spark the man’s interest further or be pursued, and he had no interest in adding to the number of hunters he had to avoid so sat down with an exasperated sigh. “What?” He said, pouting. John nearly choked. This could be either very entertaining or explosive. He didn’t know anyone who could out-sulk Sherlock but maybe…

Sherlock’s eyes were flitting everywhere, all over Merlin. “How did you get here? You brought nothing, not intentional then, alone or you wouldn’t have taken the risk of John. In a hurry to leave, you’re obviously still hungry, not wanting to linger or be weighed down, expecting to have to run then. You are in the least visible part of this cafe, so still hiding, heavy accent, too memorable, your clothes give you away too much. Come. There isn’t much time. Mycroft isn’t stupid, and Cardiff isn’t his usual stomping ground, I’ve annoyed enough people today and if we’re very lucky they’ll be distracted enough not to notice a car-hire in _your_ name John- oh don’t get your knickers in a twist, it’s on _my_ card obviously. Your clothes give you away, can’t have that, you’ll have to take my spare shirt, and lose the neckerchief obviously, it’s far too distinctive. Go on, hurry up.”

John was looking at Sherlock as though he had finally actually gone mad; really thought Sherlock, he’d expected that look _much_ sooner, but clearly Watson had an unusually high tolerance for madness. Possibly worrying. Later.

“Clearance Watson, clearance. No I can’t tell you yet, yes I will later, and Watson’s foundling you most certainly do not want to be found yet by the people who want so keenly to ‘meet’ you.” Merlin was used to mad. Really he ought to have guessed by the hair, all the black haired ones were mad. Sherlock knew who was chasing him though and that was information he _needed_ . He could cooperate for now. It was reassuring that John or Watson looked just as baffled by Sherlock’s demands as he felt, at least he could be confident that John hadn’t _intended_ this to be an ambush. He knew all too well that two people could be very close and yet have completely different angles and expectations of the same events.

“What if I say no? I don’t trust you Sherlock.” He said it matter of factly, raising one brow.

“You don’t have to. All _you_ have to do is trust that John here wouldn’t follow someone to Cardiff who you should trust _less_ than the idiots tracking you, and do what I say right now, unfortunately we’re running out of time for you to decide. If it makes you feel better I can distrust you too.”

He needed time to solve this, but he also needed shelter and the two men seemed willing to offer him that.

“Fine. You want to run, let’s run, I’ll take off the scarf but you can forget the stripping.” Merlin flicked his eyes over Sherlock’s attire briefly, “I’m going to be needing a coat though.” He grinned. Pulling off his neckerchief it disappeared into a pocket, as Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on seeing no  corresponding bulge. Oh dear. Well he could hardly make one visible now without raising more questions.

Sherlock stood and turned up his collar, “Well you can’t have mine.”

John rolled his eyes and muttered something about arrogant gits, and stepped up to the counter, handing the waitress more than enough to cover their lunch before he grabbed Merlin’s arm and half dragged him into the street.

Sherlock looked him over. “Face down, whatever you do, do not look up into the cameras.” Merlin grunted, that might even help if he knew what a camera was.

“I hope you’ve managed to park close by at least Sherlock.”

“Not far away, just didn’t want to be on one of the main streets. Do _try_ to look less like you are planning a crime, especially since you’re not. This time.” They turned down a sidestreet that hid a nondescript grey fiesta. Merlin just stared. He’d seen them crawling along of course, but had been so overwhelmed that he hadn’t been paying attention to the details, and wasn’t it always in the details that he saw the things that didn’t fit. He looked to John silently begging an example, he didn’t want to be any more mentally invasive than absolutely necessary, especially to the one person he’d met who didn’t seem to find him unhealthily interesting.

Unfortunately Sherlock noticed his hesitation first and opened the door, giving Merlin a long look.

The lost warlock got in silently, copying John’s actions with the seatbelt and trying not to have a panic attack as the engine started. When they _finally_ got out of the confusing maze of streets onto a straight road, bigger than even the ones in the city called ‘Cardiff’ John finally noticed his shallow breathing and white knuckles. “Not used to driving anymore?” He was aiming for casual Merlin knew but couldn’t bring himself to answer the same way, instead what came out was “Actually I much prefer flying. Safer. Most of the time anyway.”

John smiled slightly, “It’s funny, most people feel the opposite way.” He didn’t catch Merlin’s sharp inhalation at the casual mention of flight.

“Most people aren’t me.” He now had to establish if dragons were more common in this land, but how could he do that? Calling a dragon wasn’t exactly subtle. He’d have to think about it.

“So where are we driving to?”

Sherlock answered him briskly, “221B. We’re going home. Then we are going to _talk_ . _You_ Merlin, are a walking contradiction. You do not make sense, and I don’t like things that don’t make sense.” He ignored John’s input of “Yes, yes you do. You love impossible things.” as Sherlock growled. “You’re also smack in the middle of a case, and have some not-idiots watching you, who even Mycroft doesn’t want to piss off without good reason. That makes you important, and it makes you dangerous. It also means that you are most likely _in_ imminent danger. 221B is safer for now.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “Great. Just great, Morgana _finally_ gives me a week off foiling her, and I end up here, with a pre made set of enemies that I know nothing about, just _waiting_ for me. Destiny is a bitch.” Thunder rumbled in the distance. Half asleep with sheer exhaustion Merlin mumbled at it “Oh fuck off, you know it’s true. Balance shmalance.”

Sherlock glanced over at John, “You did check him for concussion, right?” The doctor flushed, “Well no, the kid was already jumpy and beyond checking his eyes and general responsiveness I couldn’t do much. He _did_ seem periodically disoriented but nothing indicating serious head injury. Why?”

Sherlock sighed. “Because, Watson, he was just talking to the weather, and I’d have noticed if he was high.”

Merlin decided not to answer and give away his acute hearing too soon, it would lead the men to be more cautious in future if he gave advantages readily away. His eyes were met in the mirror. “Sleep, Merlin. London is still some distance away, we’ll wake you if there is any news, or when we are close.” Merlin nodded. Usually he kept a close track of where he was being taken, but the speed was such that he had no chance of remembering the route, even if looking out of the ‘car’ didn’t nauseate him. Sherlock was silent for a long time after the boy’s breathing pattern settled into sleep. John knew better by now than to disturb him when he wore that look, so waited.

Eventually Sherlock seemed to rejoin them. His lips quirked upwards as he saw Watson carefully not watching him. “Thank you John.”

John huffed, “So are you going to tell me _anything_ about what is going on, and why we are abruptly leaving Cardiff five days earlier than anticipated.” Sherlock paused and appeared to carefully consider his words, unusual in itself, “You are a military man John Watson, have you heard of UNIT?”

He nodded and gave a careful reply. “Officially of course no-one knows what their special-ops covers.”

“Quite so. Not that ‘unofficial’ status ever squashed gossip. There is a somewhat less...controlled...operation that deals in similar matters that are currently based in Cardiff, known as Torchwood they are under orders only from Her Majesty.” Sherlock’s lip curled at the title.

“Ah. Our business in Cardiff then was linked to this Torchwood?” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“ _My_ business John, believe me, I want you nowhere near that lot of trigger happy idiots. If one of _them_ drugs you it’ll make what you had at Baskerville look like paracetamol. No one is _supposed_ to remember them and it turns out that they get _really_ pissed off if you do. Especially the one called Harkness. If you ever meet him don’t drink anything he offers you, it’s spiked. And don’t shag him, his ego needs the refusal sometimes.”

John tried not to choke, “Oh? You know him well then?” Sherlock grimaced, “Better than I might like. We have what you might call a history, and a shared desire to avoid Mycroft’s machinations and interference in more personal aspects of our lives.” The distaste was audible. For all John had seen more of the brothers’ complex relationship than most he was well aware that the hurts went far beyond lost monopoly games, and often he was only getting a fraction of the actual conversation he was witness to. There was a great deal he was missing he knew, and doubted he’d ever find out all of it, though he remembered the white-hot rage he’d felt when he realised that Mycroft had worked with Moriarty enough to feed him information. He still felt it was a betrayal. How many times, he wondered, had Sherlock been used as a pawn in such games, playing always at a disadvantage. Bloody Mycroft.

And yet he knew that the ‘Iceman’ cared more for Sherlock than for anyone else. There was very little he knew about the two years the younger Holmes spent ‘dead’, but he _knew_ that if it had been _anyone_ else Mycroft would have sent lackeys, he would never have risked his own skin in a Serbian camp for anyone but his little brother. He doubted anyone would ever fully understand the Holmes brothers. The thought of them working in accordance almost scared him.

 

Sherlock watched his friend carefully. “After the last time we _worked_ together we both agreed it would be wise to avoid doing so for a while.” He couldn’t quite suppress the shiver that passed through his frame at the surge of memory. Mycroft had brought him in on a surveillance operation during one of his ‘clean’ periods, purely because he needed Sherlock. The end result was that he ended up aboard the Valiant, and haunted, unsurprisingly the first thing he’d done after the reversal was find the nearest dealer and shoot up. Mycroft of course, averse to legwork, had no recollection of the year. When Jack found Sherlock he hadn’t criticised him, had seen him through the withdrawal, and returned him without argument to London. It had been too soon for either of them to deal with the fallout, and Harkness had his own coping methods, one of which was Ianto, but neither of them were exactly fully functional emotionally.

By the time Sherlock had met John Watson he’d stopped waking-up screaming, didn’t jump at hearing movement behind him, but he was utterly numb to seeing dead bodies, no matter how brutal their end had been. Fortunately the only ones to notice had been Mycroft, who chose not to ask, and Lestrade. By the time he met John Watson he’d managed to lock away the worst of the trauma, he was ready, and he wasn’t stupid enough to try and let someone less broken in. They’d never survive him.

With John Watson he could let the violin scream for him when it was too much to keep inside, when the itch for the relief of drugs was almost too much. John knew of course at least a little of his use of her, but still allowed his annoyance at the stupid hours to show through.

If Jack Harkness was seeking the kid they had in the back, who had panic attacks at cars but loved flying and mumbled about ready made enemies as though it was expected, he was in a world of trouble of his own and the clock was ticking. A beautiful mystery to solve, with a boy who made no sense, but would he _help_ them solve it, would he be willing at all?

“SO. Where is the kid sleeping tonight then? I assume we are not announcing his presence.”  Briefly Sherlock considered calling Molly, but no, not yet. He couldn’t be sure his phone wasn’t being traced yet. He’d put Molly in enough danger for a lifetime. Watson could stay at Mary’s...but he might be needed to calm the lost...whoever he was.

“He can have my bed. The sofa is comfortable enough for tonight.”

John rolled his eyes, “I suppose that’s your own arrogant way of requesting I stay at Baker street tonight then?” Sherlock glanced at him, judging carefully. “If there is nothing more urgent than a lost not-kid in your commitments then yes.”

“You’re impossible. Of course, there is nothing. Just let me call Mary to tell her...HEY!”

“NO. No calling, no texting, nothing unless it’s done on burner phones. I promise you, they have hacked the cctv and are coming for you. Do not make yourself traceable. No cash machine or bank card activity either. Not until I say so. Don’t worry, I have emergency cash, we won’t starve.” John gaped at him. “ _Fine_. Give my phone back and I’ll turn it off. GPS enabled after all.”  Doing so Sherlock checked in the mirror, looking at Merlin slumped over. “Promise me you’ll be careful John. I mean it.”

John groaned. “Ugh, ok. I promise to be careful, you over-protective mother hen of a Holmes.” He ignored how Sherlock’s lips pressed into a fine line at that. They were too close to home to get into a full bickering match, and Merlin was stirring in the back seat.

Interesting choice of name thought John. Looking over the now decidedly less settled youngster.

Looking at his hands he could see they were clenched tightly into fists, the thin frame vibrating with tension. “Wake him Watson.” Rumbled Sherlock, “If he’s going to panic better now than on the doorstep where he can run.” John didn’t have a good argument for that so simply tried to be as gentle as possible, discovering the mistake quickly. He tried to wake a slightly lethargic teenager expecting reluctance, and found he was dealing with something more akin to an unexpectedly disturbed soldier, his wrist twisted in a deathgrip before he could retract the hand. Apparently not in the mood for soothing Merlin took stock of his unfamiliar surroundings and willed himself to let go of the not-quite-doctor’s hand, sucking air into his lungs.

“Sorry, John. I was surprised.” Merlin managed to look bashful and genuine, though John had learned long ago not to trust such looks, through Sherlock mostly, so only rolled his eyes, “ _Obviously._ Next time do _try_ not to break my wrist.”

“Ah...yes. Absolutely. Though if I did _accidentally_ break it I promise I’d fix it again..or, um, you know...treat it.” Gods he felt so awkward. Where was Gwaine when you needed someone to break the tension? Oh, that’s right, in a different world, expecting to see _him_ sometime this month. Dammit. Stupid tear.

John cleared his throat loudly. “So, Sherlock, are you going to explain to me why we are apparently branching out into kidnapping? I thought that was on your list of ‘a bit not good’ things already.”

The consulting detective looked puzzled for a moment, “It’s not kidnapping, see, not a kid, as Merlin here has already specified to you.” Merlin felt that perhaps Sherlock was missing the point the flatmate was trying to make. “And anyway, out of all his possible kidnappers we really are the nicest ones.” Sherlock smiled.

“Oh well, that makes it ok then.” responded John sarcastically. The bickering made Merlin relax, it felt much more like home that way, like him and Arthur almost.

“Well shall we test it then? I will give you an evaluation when the kidnapping is over and rank you in order of all previous kidnappings. So far this is one of the best. Usually they take much longer to feed us, and other than this strap there have been no ties, gags, or restraints. No one else is being threatened or bartered, I mean it’s been almost pleasant. Though neither of you seem very experienced at the kidnapping thing, especially with John’s nice little moral crisis. It’s strange being on the outside of one. Poor Gaius. I really must remember to get him some decent mead later.” He was talking too much, a vague part of him recognised that was bad. He should find something inane, anything, distract, wisps of thought spun around him, gods he was beginning to regret opening that particular can of worms. He’d never had a particular desire to hear or listen in on other people’s thoughts. He knew too well the value of and need for privacy, the fear of one’s secrets being known, and yet since he started skimming through necessity it had become harder to differentiate between verbal and nonverbal communication. What was certain. Sherlock was too observant, John then, “So how long have you been a phy-doctor John? Is there a particular thing you specialise in?” John nodded, allowing the evasion and redirection to avoid opening wounds. “About 25 years now,” Merlin looked again, John appeared young for his apparent age, “I specialised in surgery, and emergency medicine.” At the word ‘surgery’ Merlin’s expression had contorted a little too fast. “Not planning to be a surgeon yourself then.” The older man chuckled.

“Ahm, no,  just recalling some particularly _graphic_ anatomy lessons from my master. I’ve sewn up too many friends in the field for it to appeal really. Perhaps if they by some miracle grow a bit of common sense and stop doing stupid stuff I could enjoy it one day.” Merlin offered a blank smile. Realising too late he’d used a few old terms and cursing himself for being too relaxed. “Perhaps if you’d be willing to lend me a book you could explain your preferred techniques though. It’s always better to have a greater knowledge of options according to Gaius. He might even forgive me the detour if I can prove I learned something.” Merlin looked revolted. “Unlikely though. More likely to make me clean out the..” He stopped just in time, catching a hint at the edge of John’s thoughts, “his pets. One of my least favourite parts of living with the man.” He knew though that his voice conveyed the affection he felt towards his mentor.

Sherlock finally stopped the car, “Get out.”

John was tempted to hit him again, _“Sherlock Holmes!”_ He near yelled.

With a petulant sigh worthy of Arthur Pendragon himself he unbuckled the seatbelt and turned, “Will everyone _please_ exit the car as we have now reached our destination.” He caught John’s eye and smirked, “ _There._ Better?” His friend lifted an eyebrow, “Until you had to check with me, yes. Much.”

“Same again Merlin, head down, don’t look at the corners or roofs.” The young warlock nodded. He may not be a stranger to strategy, but whatever these ‘camera’ things were he doubted a glamour was going to cut it. Something else he’d need to work out. There was nowhere obvious he could find the plants he needed for transformation potions, and he hated taking risks with that type of spell. They were in quickly and despite the rather cramped stairwell Merlin was struck by how _warm_ it was. John ushered him upstairs swiftly “Don’t want to attract Mrs Hudson’s attention too soon, tomorrow morning is soon enough for anyone. I’ll just get the kettle on, and if we’re very lucky, there’ll be a few mugs safe for humans to drink from.” Well Merlin certainly hoped so, he could go a lot longer without _that_ particular trait of his attracting attention. He’d even lied to Gaius about how ‘injured’ he’d been on occasion. It was something he tried very, very hard not to think about. Unsure of what he was expected to do Merlin traipsed after John, before seeing the kitchen. At the sight of various experiments setup and equipment everywhere his face lit up. As John Watson began to grumble and went to clear them he couldn’t quite stifle the cry that burst from him, “No!” The man turned, a look of shock on his face, “Um, I mean...Shouldn’t we check to see if they are finished first. In my experience it’s always unwise to move unidentified liquids and experiments from the table, and any breakages are collected on.” Sherlock was laughing, _actually laughing_ at the gobsmacked look on John’s face. “I like him. You can keep this one.”

“ _Keep me_ ? Of course he can’t keep me! I have to go back, if I don’t then bad things will happen. The prat will get himself killed in a week! Gwaine will get himself exiled from the whole five or drown in a barrel. NO. I have to fix this. Once I figure out what _this_ is.”

“Perhaps a cup of tea John, and a biscuit, and of course there are safe cups, they are colour coded now, remember.” John rolled his eyes, hard. “It is always worth checking that they have not been involved in an emergency.” Merlin sniggered.

“So what has made you so at ease with the state of my kitchen, and taught the virtue of not disturbing an incomplete experiment?” Merlin flopped gracelessly down into a chair, which had a bizarre amount of padding, “My mentor, Gaius. I live with him. That and pain. ‘Always check for poison’ is a particularly unpleasant lesson...if you are going to learn it, do so on one for which we have the antidote in stock. Closely followed by under no circumstances risk spilling acid.” Sherlock was in full deductive mode by now, and thoroughly irritated when a voice cut through his concentration “Sherlock, there’s no milk.”

“Borrow Mrs Hudson’s. She’ll forgive you this once.”  Casting a stern look at his friend Sherlock made it an order.

“How did you know the experiments were mine?” He looked intensely at the youth now curled on his sofa. “Who else would they belong to? John said you were a chemist before, and I think might have made a joke. He is not a doctor who makes his own treatments.” This seemed to puzzle the young man, but at least he wasn’t entirely relegated to the goldfish class.

“Why did you find the experiments on the kitchen table normal?” Sherlock knew but he wanted to hear it from the boy himself.

“It _is_ normal. At least for me.”

“And this thing you believe you need to fix? How was it broken?” Merlin shook his head, “I don’t know yet. I know someone who might, but I don’t think he’d hear my call from here.” Well that made _no_ sense. Sherlock sighed. “Well, you’re clearly not thinking straight yet, I’ll order some food, and we can begin to trace this friend of yours tomorrow, find out what was broken. You’ll need clothes before going out. We’ll get Mary or Molly to bring something more appropriate than your attire. Be good and I might even consider adding a jacket.” He winked broadly. “Tonight you can take my bed, I won’t be sleeping anyway.”

Merlin looked expectantly at him. “What?” Sherlock demanded; he shook his head, and to think  Gaius complained about _his_ manners. “Your bed. You forgot to tell me where it is.” Sherlock’s head jerked up as he gestured towards his room. “That way, go on. Some of my pyjamas will fit you.” Merlin bit his lip, he’d had enough half naked men in his bed over the past few years, but sharing clothes was not something he was accustomed to. He wasn’t a noble, and had few enough to spare, even if he _had_ been the same shape as any of his visitors.

 

Merlin close the door and sighed. If he had the energy to spare he might have been overwhelmed by the bedroom, especially the walls and the bed itself, which was easily as big as Prince Arthurs. He wondered if it would be as comfortable.

..And if he would wake up to someone yelling at him for being lazy and not doing something they had not asked him to do yet.

Sitting down on the edge of it he decided that would be a risk worth taking, once he located the offered night clothes, and had some of the food that John had suggested. With so many nooks and odd items it took longer than he expected to find what he needed and change into the astonishingly soft nightclothes, and when he emerged John was calmly seated in a chair which seemed to be ‘his’, holding a steaming mug in one hand, a biscuit in the other, and glaring steadily over the rim at his friend.

Clearly John was pissed at Sherlock for something and sulking, while Sherlock was pointedly not noticing. Normal day’s end campfire behaviour then.

John caught his eye and visibly relaxed, “I’m ordering food. What do you fancy, Merlin?” the warlock paused, he had no idea what the question mean. Fortunately he was saved from fumbling for an acceptable answer by the detective, “Angelo’s tonight, John. He won’t let anyone spike the food, and you know the delivery boys. Don’t eat any other food you haven’t observed being prepared until Merlin leaves.”

John looked appalled at the bluntness but after _court_ Merlin found it genuinely refreshing to have someone state their meaning and not have to read through double meanings and intrigue.

“No, it’s ok, really. I agree completely. No drinks we haven’t seen.”

 

“Bottled water too. Torchwood’s reach covers London, despite it not being _their_  usual stomping grounds.”

John lifted an eyebrow. “Stomping ground?”

“As I said John, I am perfectly capable of being ‘current’.”

The doctor rolled his eyes, brilliant, Sherlock was heading towards a strop.     

“And of being an annoying git. Are you sure we need to stick to _bottled_ water? It seems a little extreme.” The pair locked eyes and for a moment John saw an earnestness there that he hadn’t seen since Moriarty, it robbed him of breath. Holmes nodded slowly.

“John Watson; when you think of the measures this group are willing to take, I want you to be considering what _Mycroft_ might be willing to do to achieve a goal, or _retrieve_ an errant brother. Is that clear enough for you?” John swallowed.

“Absolutely, Sherlock. Expect Mycroft level meddling and amorality until the _case is solved.”_

Merlin watched it all, a small smile playing around his lips.    

Looking carefully he chose a spot on the end of the sofa to curl up on, used to hunching against the cold in the absence of a warming spell, noticing belatedly that it was neither draughty nor cold.

When he saw Sherlock studying him he shrugged slightly and uncoiled enough to appear more relaxed than he felt.

 “Where did you leave your clothes Merlin?”  The question took him by surprise and he just waved a hand towards the room, “Your stool, why? Was that wrong?” Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

“Wrong? Of course it was wrong! Bring them through, I’m sorry but you’ll have to sacrifice your shirt to science, it may help to get you home faster. Your trousers will need to be washed immediately if you believe they can be saved, otherwise I will have to have them ritually burned.”

It explained very little to Merlin really.  Clearly he was dealing with rich prats again with no understanding of value and the fact not everyone had full wardrobes.

“Actually no, there will be no burning, _especially_ not ritual burning, nor hair collecting, unless you ask permission specifically and I watch _everything._ I don’t have another shirt with me so I can’t sacrifice that one, not even for science. Use your own.”

Merlin sullenly crossed his arms. Pinching his brow Sherlock took a deep breath, it was like people _tried_ to be stupid.

“You can have a replacement shirt, more if need be. The trousers have never seen the inside of a washing machine though and you can tell. Wash them or I swear I’ll burn them _without_ ritual the moment your eyes close.

No Holmes could have missed the suppressed relief that washed through Merlin at the retraction of the word. It didn’t fit. None of it fitted. Merlin didn’t fit. Even the shirt didn’t fit, it was made of a coarse, homespun linen, a work-shirt, uncomfortable certainly, yet worn soft by long use.

His clothes bore no modern fastenings, no elastic, nothing synthetic at all. He’d carefully examined the  neckerchief, but wouldn’t take that from the man. It was getting moth eared and stained, clearly worn more for sentimental reasons than appearance.

“Fine. If the stool is so _wrong_ then where do you wish them? You still can’t destroy the shirt, but do what you need to. I can’t stay here, and apparently I’m going to need some help getting home.” Needing help always chilled him. Trust wasn’t actually something Merlin had a lot of.

It always seemed to end badly, with the possible exception of Lancelot.

 

“Excellent. John, put the trousers on to wash, and leave the shirt in the kitchen for me. So if _home_ is not where we found you- and it clearly wasn’t- then exactly where _is_ home, Merlin? Who should we expect to come looking for you?”

Sherlock steepled his fingers and watched the colour drain from his guest’s face as he considered Arthur stumbling into this world, sword in hand, gods forbid! What if he saw a ‘car’? This world was not his. Some things about it were very good, including the warmth, but he missed his own.

“Arthur might look, though he won’t find me without help, Gaius will notice I’m missing but that’s not particularly unusual, I always turn up eventually.  Kilgarrah isn’t coming, the traitorous bastard. He’s also probably the only one who _could_ find me. No one. You should expect no-one to come after me.” _Please goddess let Morgana_ **_not_ ** _stumble into this place._

“I don’t know how I can describe ‘home’ in a way you’d understand, because I really don’t know how I got here, or exactly where ‘here’ is, which is not good really.”

The corner of Sherlock’s lips twitched upwards, “You’re a liar, Merlin.”

Merlin’s heart stuttered but his gaze remained steady, “So are you.”

Sherlock tilted his head slightly. “So I am. When the occasion calls for it, so tell me Merlin, is this one of those times or not?”

Merlin breathed deeply for a minute, considering how much to tell this Sherlock. He seemed to be the most aware of what was going on, or at least of the concerned parties, but what would he use the information for? Merlin couldn’t guess. He also hadn’t discovered yet whether magic was illegal here, and he had not  seen any signs of it being practised, which did not bode well.

“Probably. I am from somewhere near Cardiff, but not _your_ Cardiff. I do not recognise it. My home is unlike anything I have seen today, and I need to return to it, but where I fell asleep and where I awoke are not the same place, though they seem to occupy the same space. I have no proper answers that satisfy my own questions, and likely not your own either, but I am alone here, and I wish to keep it that way, and prevent any more people from crossing or finding themselves here.  Believe me or not, as you choose. It changes nothing. No one was supposed to notice me you know.” Merlin looked disgruntled.

Sherlock couldn’t help chuckling, “Yes, well, deny it as he will, John does have a type, and he is rather predictable in some ways. Even Mary agrees with _that_.”

“Mary?” Sherlock hummed and acknowledgment, “His fiancee, future wife. She has secrets of her own, everyone does. Or at least they think they do.” Sherlock grimaced and Merlin nodded in understanding, secrets were supposed to remain such, but in this place people apparently had no mental walls, happy to broadcast thoughts or at least leave open things that no one needed to see. He sensed no actual telepathic ability from the man, there was curiosity though, and a rare intelligence evident. He’d have to be careful.

“Simple would never satisfy your soldier friend, Mr Holmes.”

The detective’s eyes flashed “Oh you’re good, I’ll give you that. Now _why_ are you so good?”

Merlin wasn’t a genius, at least not like _he_ was, he wasn’t _consciously_ analysing every detail, wasn’t even _noticing_ many of them, yet he referred to John as a soldier after John introduced himself as a doctor. A skill borne of necessity then, spotting potential sources of danger, however oblique in appearance. “When I told you not to look up you obeyed instantly, and I _know_ you aren’t the obedient type. This isn’t your first time being hunted, is it.” It wasn’t a question. Sure, Merlin looked tense, a little keyed up, but he was relaxed enough to have slept on the journey, he seemed unsurprised, and despite everything about him screaming for attention, he had deflected most of John’s personal questions, and was clearly accustomed to avoiding notice. Sherlock had lived like that for two years. Hiding, sometimes in the darkness, other times in plain sight; acting covertly, rarely truly resting, and always, _always_ masked. Trusting no-one, even when he was forced to accept their help. Ah, there. The flicker, eyes darting about, checking escape routes, location and stance of the predator, they were not trusted but deemed essential. Position precarious then.

John brought through some sweet tea then and a biscuit which he handed to Merlin with an encouraging smile, meant to set him at ease. “I hope Sherlock isn’t being too much of a prick to you.” Merlin grimaced briefly as he gleaned the meaning from John’s public mind _prick- penis euphemism- used in place of ‘prat’._

“No, not too much anyway. My friend is usually much worse. Actually, most of them are really.”

John quirked an eyebrow, “You need to find better friends mate.”

Merlin shook his head with a chuckle, “They might be a bunch of prats and rogues, but they always come through for you when it matters. Even when it’s dangerous.” A fleeting smile crossed his features, “ _Especially_ when it’s dangerous.”

Sherlock watched, frowning, too many ideas.

A single sharp knock at the door broke their concentration, as the surge of magic robbed Merlin of breath. John stood to answer it, needlessly as it turned out, a man with disturbingly familiar features stood on the stairs, apparently having picked the lock as easily as Holmes himself could.

“No. No, no, no. You! You’re upstairs already! Apparently coming back from the dead is all the rage these days, but there is no _bloody_ way I am going to have people start splitting themselves in two or bringing doubles.” The doppleganger rolled his eyes hard, looking almost as exasperated as Sherlock himself could. “Just let me in already, _before_ everything goes to hell.”

Slightly dazed-a state which John Watson had really begun to think he was developing a resistance to- the doctor muttered a curse and stood aside and gestured to the living room. “Will _you_ be wanting tea too then?” The second Merlin threw a small smile over his shoulder, “Milk and one sugar please, hot.” Well at least there was the small mercy that _tea_ didn’t confuse this one.

 

“Hey! Idiot!” Sherlock raised a brow at Merlin’s instant response, as their visitor entered Holmes immediately schooled his features to a carefully blank mask.

“Oof! Heeey, what’s that for?” Merlin pouted at the undignified way he’d been winded by the travel bag to the chest. He watched his own eyebrow arch into a disapproving look that would make Gaius proud. “I hadn’t picked something, though I assume you’ve done _something_ recently to deserve it from me. Besides, I’m being nice, Hunith would be appalled at your manners, no thank you or anything. Leaving it to poor Watson here”. A hand gestured imprecisely over his shoulder.

The first Merlin’s eyes narrowed, “Leave her out of this.” He didn’t quite manage to keep the growl out of his tone and felt his hackles rising at the answering smirk until it melted into a true smile. “Good. I was right. The bag is for you, clothes inside to blend in at least a _little_ better, toothbrush and razor, shoes that’ll fit, oh, and a watch. You’ll love those!” Merlin’s head was swimming, so close to slowing it all down again until he felt the swell of a familiar magic roll over him and press time back into action, a small shake of what had to somehow be his own head confirmation enough.

“Thank you.” He ground out. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, he was just afraid of what he might slip. “I’m not calling you Merlin though. It’s _my_ name and it’ll be too confusing.” The cocky wink was not an expected response, “Fine, call me Emrys then. You don’t answer to the other names and you know it.” Sherlock had been watching the exchange silently intrigued,

“If you try it I’ll start using your title, _My Lord_ , and enjoy watching you squirm..yes, exactly like that.” Holmes snorted, it was as bad as dealing with smug Mycroft when he tried to manipulate him with knighthood threats.

Merlin grimaced, slightly horrified at the ease his other self took up the name of prophecy, he still felt nausea when it was used, he ran his hands through already ruffled hair and groaned.

“Fine, _Emrys_ then.” He flinched  but his host showed no recognition of the name. Odd, but refreshing.

Holmes of course noticed the flinch, as he noticed everything.

Indicating the seat he invited ‘Emrys’ to sit with them. “So Emrys, are you going to tell us what you are really  doing here?” The detective’s gaze was sharp on his visitor.

“Ugh, and they said _I_ was too blunt. Yes I am, when your good doctor rejoins us.” As though summoned John entered the room carrying tea and a biscuit for Emrys.

“Ok, so, it’s complicated. Merlin here is connected to the world in an unusual way, he’s also brilliant, _and_ a bit of an idiot, so between him in his native home, and me here there’s been a bit of an overlap. So he’s managed to stumble through time. Torchwood has a file on me, but I’m very, very good at avoiding people, HE isn’t. Yet. Mycroft is also a nosey bastard but much easier to evade. I can be a decoy or at least scramble circuits and divide their resources between us. Plus, he needed clothes. Yours are too fancy, they attract attention, and you like that. He doesn’t want it. Impractical too, seriously your laundry bills must be ridiculous- Oh and while we’re on washing, Merlin, when you _do_ get back STOP doing the prat’s socks, the laundress and maids are getting offended, even the ones that fancy you. He’ll never know the difference unless Gwen tells him and she won’t. Love that girl but observation is _not_ her strong point.”

The resident Holmes snorted, “Observation is no-one’s strong point.” Except Mary, he mentally added. He wondered if she’d ever tell John about the past.  Unlikely if the current pattern continued. He couldn’t really blame her, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about his two years in exile either.

“You have to go back, but there are things that need solved here before you can, and things you must learn.” Merlin rolled his eyes hard, “Let me guess, there is also a time limit and severe consequences for failure.” It wasn't a question.

Emrys smirked at him.

“See, you know how it works. Don’t waste your time, and forget about _her_ while you are here, you’re wasting energy.”

John interjected there, “Her? Who is her? You said there was no-one.” Sherlock shook his head, radiating disappointment. All this and what _he_ noticed was mention of a girl. “ _Think_ John. Who else but the enemy?” Merlin looked at John and grimaced, “Trust me, she’s not your type.” Emrys chuckled, “Gods no, but she just might be _yours_ if the pair of you would stop trying to kill each other long enough to _talk._ Or...you know... _not talk.”_

_“Shut up!_ No! I might not be the purest guy around, but I  have _some_ standards. Homicidal witch doesn’t quite pass.” Emrys raised his eyebrow, apparently unconvinced, “Please, I know _exactly_ where you’ve been.” Merlin shifted  uncomfortably, “Yes, well, if you’re all finished calling me a slut I’m going to bed. Alone. It has not been an easy day and tomorrow doesn’t look promising either.” John couldn’t quite suppress a giggle at the pout. It was almost as good as Sherlock's sulking face. “Night then.” he called to Merlin’s retreating back, receiving a grumble of acknowledgement before the door slammed.

Great. Another drama queen. Emrys tilted his head, “Only when there’s no emergency. Don’t fool yourself, that man is as complex as a Holmes and wears as many masks. Right now his worst fear is himself, Doctor, and unfortunately that is exactly who we need.” John watched as Sherlock slipped into his mind palace in his favourite pose, fingers twitching in time with a piece of music only he could hear. He sighed, it would be a long night then. If he hadn't lived through what he had then perhaps it would have been enough to sleep, but John knew better, he knew that things hid in the darkness and waited. Emrys gave him a half smile. “Get some rest, you're exhausted. I’ll take first watch. Wake you at 4?” John nodded gratefully.

“Thank you, truly. I don’t understand most of what was being discussed, but it sounds like something Sherlock will enjoy.” Emrys shook his head “Just be careful, and even if it sounds impossible, _listen_ to them. I’ll be in touch soon, you’ll know when. If Torchwood find you then it’s a danger night for Sherlock. If they get to you,  you’ll never know, won't even remember you met me, or him, or them. They protect the masses. It is a very different morality, Mycroft is an example. Your friends there can be. Sherlock will need you and Molly to ease his soul when this is over.”

Great. _Just great_.  Another bloke who left more questions than answers every time he opened his mouth.  It ought to bother him more than it did. If it did though he’d have left Sherlock Holmes years ago for a normal, calm life.

“He’s told me before he has none.”

Emrys looked sharply at John and cocked his head, “He lied.”

Of course he did, _John_ knew that Holmes had a heart, had seen it in his actions, it threw him that this apparent stranger also did, without having need of the same intimacy.

“Don’t.”

John would once have been offended, now it seemed to be a waste of energy, “Don’t what?” he sighed.

“Think. I can hear it from here, you’ll do yourself no good and end up annoyed. Go to sleep John.”

The doctor shook his head and stood, stretching carefully. “Okay. You have first watch. Fail him and I’ll kill you.” Emrys knew that it wasn’t a bluff, he’d given the same warning before. “You have my word.”

Sherlock hadn’t moved, still in his Mind Palace.

There was silence after John’s door closed, his room now considerably more spartan than in the past, and Emrys settled into a chair with a journal. Not looking immediately to Sherlock when the detective opened his eyes.

“How did you find know to find us tonight?”

The corner of Emrys’ lips curled up, “Oh, Sherlock Holmes, You know I can’t tell you that.”

“You aren’t twins, you shocked Merlin with your appearance, so what is it?”

Emrys chuckled, “And wasn’t that fun! I never did understand before why Arthur thought it quite so funny but that face… plus he needs a reminder that he can’t predict everything.”

Sherlock did not share his amusement.

“No-one can.” _Even Mycroft_ whispered a traitorous voice. _Shut up, shut up!_

A deep sadness filled Emrys’ eyes. “No. No-one sees everything; and if they did they’d never fully understand it.” Nobody alive today knew that like he did.

“You didn’t answer the question Emrys.”

He shook his head, offering no denial, “No, and I won’t do so. Deductions will aid you, but they will not solve me to your satisfaction Sherlock. You _see_ so much,almost everything, and the data conflicts, but you have had so much time to practice and refine your art, to learn to sift through millions of pieces of information without being constantly overwhelmed. The youth lying in your bed needs to learn the skill, not of deduction itself, but of processing, and of using a mind palace. It is a technique he should have been properly taught by now, but those who ought to have done so were selfish, or blinded and failed him, so his mind is reliant primarily on instinct right now. That will not serve him well.”

Sherlock cast a wary eye towards his bedroom, before looking back towards the stranger, so different from the boy whose looks he shared. “Tell me; why do Torchwood want him? What are you actually asking? Emrys, you _are_ that boy, yet you are not. Is. He. Human.”

A look of disgust and disappointment crossed the man’s features. “Would it matter if he wasn’t?”

Sherlock locked gazes with him, he had stared down more dangerous men than this one, he would _not_ be manipulated this time. “Yes.”

Emrys eyes were stormy but his voice steady when he responded. “Yes. Merlin is human, his mother was human, he has lived his entire life surrounded by ‘normal’ humans, endangered by the irrational fears of others, and laws that should never have existed. His family made him a target at his birth.” Sherlock chilled, _that_ he understood. Mycroft’s influence in the Palace had not come from nowhere, and his _brother’s_ political machinations made _him_ a perfect pressure point, an easier target to get to, and had since he was first kidnapped by enemies of Mycroft as a teenager. No. Mustn’t be distracted, shut the emotions in the box they belong in.

“You said his mother was human. What was his father?”

Emrys’ lips tightened, “Terran. Of Earth. He held power that other men envied, and he did not know of Merlin’s existence.”

Sherlock steepled his fingers and tapped the index fingertips together.

“I do not trust you Emrys. Too many layers that contradict each other, misdirection comes to you too easily. How did you come by your current name? Merlin recognised it and reacted. Strongly.”

Emrys sighed. “It’s complicated. _Emrys_ is more than just a name, it’s more of a title, a position, not one you choose either. It’s a by birth one and non-hereditary, held by a single person;  it is not a title Merlin sought, he does not want it, and either way he cannot escape it.”

“You called him My Lord.”

Emrys actually snorted at that. “That title _is_ hereditary, and after growing up in serious poverty he hates it. Sounds far too much like a rich prat to feel natural. Brilliant way to piss him off though.” He couldn’t help smirking, but it was amusing as well as surreal winding one’s younger self up.

“So. Staying in my bed right now is a mostly-human, stroppy youth, with power and a position he does not want, but needs to use. Who is running from the organisation Torchwood for an as yet unknown reason, and is a temporal anomaly of some sort, judging by his appalling, ratty garb; and an older or parallel version of himself is sitting in my living room, using a different name and totally unexpected by the angsty youth.”

Emrys looked bemused. “That’s about it yes….but angsty? Really?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”

Emrys grimaced. “Maybe a little. At least he has due cause.” Sherlock looked unconvinced, “Sentiment is a weakness.”

Emrys didn’t blink, “And a strength.”

Interesting.“It clouds judgement. A fly in the ointment.”

Emrys’ lips curled upwards, “Yet without it the world would be empty of compassion, and when one disregards sentiment of _all_ kinds, one loses an understanding of so many motives. Don’t you think, Detective?”

Sherlock arched a brow, “Ah yes, and back we are to _motives, Emrys.”_

Emrys ruefully shook his head. “Mr Holmes. One day you will know all of it, everything you so desire right now, and it will trouble you more than you think. My motives are much like your own. Not singular. There is a case that involves me, in two forms, and complications. There are people I wish to protect, and I _know_ you understand _that._ ” Sherlock felt cold.

“Merlin?” Emrys shook his head. “Almost everyone _but_ Merlin.”

Sherlock watched Emrys’ every movement carefully as the man withdrew something from his pocket. He was unarmed yet dangerous. A little like John he supposed.

Emrys rolled his eyes. “Really, if it was my intention to hurt you, you would never have seen me. An occasional thank you goes a long way to smoothing things, as you well know.” It was testament to his reflexes that he caught the box at all. Nicotine patches.

“Don’t use them all at once.”

Without changing his expression at all Sherlock slipped them into his pocket. He was a chemist. He’d test them tomorrow.

“I hear it's bad for you.”

Emrys cocked his head, “That never seemed to bother you before.” The detective's eyes narrowed, “Before what?” but Emrys mask was back.  He was a master of his own reactions, Holmes had to grant him that. Most people would school their facial expressions, yet this man controlled his full body, his displayed mannerisms as easily. It had taken _him_ years to gain such control of his transport. “Here. Don't waste the others on testing, that's the formula to check, and with it a replacement for what you will waste anyway.” A smile pulled at his lips.

“Mycroft would just _hate_ you. Usually a good enough reason for me to… Not hate a person.”

“Careful Sherlock, that almost sounds like a compliment.” The only response was a grunt, but it was more than Emrys expected. After all, his King had used ‘idiot’ as a term of endearment, and been as emotionally damaged as Sherlock Holmes was. Often enough he’d been witness to brooding silences. Sherlock turned the box over in his pocket. Only The Woman had ever left him truly confounded and he did not like the sensation of not knowing, yet he could not trust his deductions of these two men. Finally electing to retreat to his mind palace to process everything, Sherlock steepled his fingers and settled back into the sofa.

Content that the detective had done so, Emrys closed his eyes and slowly allowed his magic to seep out freely, connecting to the Web around them all. Watching where he could not _see, listening_ where he was not present. Tendrils wrapping around all the living things, and cringing around his younger self trying so hard to contain the magic that needed, _wanted_ to flow freely. He could feel the magic screaming, and Merlin body with it. Magic was fighting itself and that was dangerous for them all. It was more than time to put an end to that. Even if it was going to hurt. Emrys erected temporary barriers around Merlin mind. No one should share another’s nightmares because of inadequate shielding. He decided to take an old-style watch with absolutely minimal wards simply because anything else would cause the house to light up like a Christmas tree to anyone able to sense magic. Emrys wasn't sure about Jack Harkness but wasn't about to find out this way.

He did appreciate the touch of a real fire. So many people these days didn't, often distrustful of the flames, yet he of all people felt comfortable by small fires, the element was important to magic and ritual, and to the earth. The crackling soothed him.

He would have to be extremely careful with his younger self, old enough now to have lived through the Crystal of Neahtid prophecy, and have had a first experience in the Valley of the Kings. Young enough to still have some freedom to change. An old man had once told him that nothing is ever truly forgotten, traces are always left in the world, not realising fully to whom he spoke. Emrys suspected he might be one of them, a remnant, though of exactly what he could not be certain.

He needed to speak with his younger self. Discreetly if possible. He knew all too well that Merlin trusted no-one, not even Gaius fully now, oh he _loved_ the old man like a father, but he knew that the old man’s loyalties were all too often torn. When tested he would always choose Merlin, but rarely would he go against Uther openly for anyone else. It taken him far too long the first time to understand why.  When he finally understood it was too late; and by then he was stuck in the same trap.

Perhaps there _was_ something to the Holmes’ assertions about sentiment.

Emrys had to admit that the rest of his watch was dull. Sherlock had slept for a couple of hours, not uttering another word.

 

******************************************

Cardiff

Captain Jack Harkness was not having a good day.

As far as _he_ was concerned, any day containing Mycroft Holmes could be classed as ‘trying’. Any day dealing with multiple Holmes promised a migraine.

A day that had both of them, an overlap in work or jurisdiction, and a massive spike in rift activity that showed an unidentified temporal anomaly with disappearing _visitors_ , promised a lack of sleep, short tempered colleagues, and trouble. Times like this he missed hyper-vodka.

As it was he rubbed his temples and tried to be grateful that these days he had Ianto’s coffee to keep them all going.

It at least revived the mind a little, something they all needed after working all night.

The man himself was leaning casually against the doorframe of Jack’s office now and cleared his throat loudly. “Jack, we found something. It small, barely traceable, but definite activity, not where we would expect it though...Sir, it’s coming from London.”

Jack’s headache bloomed, he barely suppressed a frustrated growl. “Narrow the search Tosh, and check two places for me.” The girl nodded, fingers flying already,

“Which ones?”

Jack sighed. “Canary Wharf...and Baker street.”

Tosh’s eyes widened a fraction but she didn’t question the order, swiftly altering the search parameters.

Jack watched as the results flashed up on the display and he swore under his breath.

“Check that signature Tosh, Ianto; search the records, if that energy signature belongs to who I think it does force won’t work. Fast as we can kids; I have some phone calls to make.”

Bloody hell, he understood Mycroft’s protectiveness of a younger brother, but Sherlock was a man grown. More than that he’d spent years as an agent, off-grid. Sometimes he had to agree with Sherlock’s assessment of his brother as a ‘mother hen’.  Torchwood may be beyond the government, but occasionally situations arose which required a little more finesse. Involving the younger Holmes in this- discounting the fact that he already _was_ involved- definitely came under that. Gritting his teeth Jack punched in the number. “Hello Mycroft, I apologise for the timing but a situation has arisen and Torchwood will be active in London today…”

 

When he exited his office he wanted badly to punch something, some _one_ really but that would get them nowhere. Once this was done he was going to lock himself into a small room with Ianto and stay there until neither of them could move. They’d both have earned it.

Putting aside _that_ plan he swept into the main Hub.

 

“Yan! Any news? Tell me you’ve at least got a match.”

“Yes sir, not one I recognise though. File goes back into the paper-trail days, it’s just labelled ‘Emrys’. No second names, no organisation listed, no employer that I could find.” Jack shook his head and cast a rueful look towards Ianto.

“Nor will you. Emrys answers to one man only, and it isn’t me; or the Doctor.”

Ianto watched his lover tense. “Who then?” His eyebrow rising.

“Not someone we are ever likely to meet he’s been gone a long time, and if we do, trust me, it won’t be something you miss.”

“You know him?”

Jack didn’t meet Ianto’s eyes, “I’ve known lots of people Ianto.”

The young man shook his head, it was an answer anyway. “Well just make sure you don’t get to _know_ anyone else. Sir.” Jack flashed him a wink and a saucy smirk. “No-one but you Yan, no-one but you.”

“Tosh, tell me you’ve got something more for us.” She shook her head,

“Nothing useful.”

Jack Harkness counted slowly to ten and blew out a long breath.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s take a road trip. Gwen, no guns. If Emrys is at Baker street for some godforsaken reason, no weapons we take are ever coming back with you. He does not like them.”

Owen swore, “Oh, and I suppose we answer to _him_ now, is that it? Since when did _you_ care what anyone else thought.” Jack glared at the young doctor. “We don’t take orders from him, but Emrys is an old friend of mine,” he ignored Owen’s snort, “and believe me, he doesn’t tolerate guns. He’s also immune to retcon, before you suggest that.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “You have the _worst_ ‘old friends’ Jack.”

As expected he was ignored. Advanced med kit it was then, he was getting far too used to stitching up friends.

Jack watched Ianto carefully, he always did when London was involved, Ianto had been forgiven his misjudgement, but as his boss Harkness was well aware of what had brought him to Torchwood 3.

The SUV left just before dawn, Gwen drifting to sleep and Tosh watching the compute carefully for any fluctuations in energy signatures.

********************************************************

 

His grace period had expired, Emrys could feel them coming now, time to leave for now. He stretched and stood to get ready..

Apparently younger-Merlin’s instincts were still working, as he came padding silently down from his host’s bedroom. “You’re leaving.”

Emrys nodded, “Yes.”

Merlin folded his arms and allowed his frustration to show through, “Why? I mean why _now?_ ”

“Ugh! To set a false trail and provide decoys. You need to listen better when they discuss tactics kid. Torchwood have found us and they are coming. C’mon, there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep now, and it’s almost your usual time to rise anyway. I’ll show you the shower, you’re going to love them.”

When they were alone his older self gripped Merlin’s shoulders, “You have to let it flow Merlin. You have to let the magic free again, and to learn from the detective how to organise and calm your mind. You cannot contain this any longer. _Think_ Merlin. You tried to contain it, refused to return the magic to the world and it tore a hole in _time itself_ . You need to stop fighting it Merlin. I can feel the pain it is causing you. If you don’t it will get progressively worse. You’ve been tapping into the telepathic field, dipping in and out of minds at random, you’re broadcasting _way_ too much, and need to construct some defenses and shields before you break someone.” Merlin closed his eyes, he hated to be vulnerable, he couldn’t afford it.

“Merlin _look at me_ . You have to accept the other half of your destiny, not just protect your friend. Arthur’s destiny lies _with_ yours, but his is not your own, and you guide him but he must come to realise what he faces or he will never truly _understand_ . As _he_ leads the non magical peoples, those with magic look to you Merlin, and You both need to find a way to work together.   _Your_ destiny is to return the magic to Albion,  it is _how_ you help to unite it.  The time has come to begin taking on the mantle of Emrys, because you can _accept_ it and learn, or rebel and it will crush you… and all you love. Kilgarrah does not lie when he says no one can escape destiny, but you _can_ choose your route to the fixed points.” He released Merlin and gestured towards the bathroom. “I’ve left everything you need, John can help with anything extra.” Emrys leaned over and turned the shower on, finding his preferred temperature and setting easily, catching Merlin’s surprise he shook his head, “Nope. Not magic. This is just technology, a machine built from components, like a very sophisticated water pump. The nature of men remains much the same, but they are also capable of great things.”

Emrys left and the door closed behind the subdued young man, leaving him alone and with far too much to think about.

 

John Watson half stumbled downstairs having been woken by the shower, bleary eyed but clear headed, the years of being always on call for patients or attacks having left him able to sleep anywhere,and to wake ready to fight.

“Good, I was just about to wake you, there is coffee brewing, the gang from Cardiff are on their way, even you’ll need the caffeine today.”

Emrys nodded at him  as he left 221b and John saw him out.

Turning on his heel and pulling his jacket tightly around him the strange man disappeared into the night. Bloody cryptic wanker. Must be something about the cheekbones.

John Watson blew out a measured breath and slowly climbed the stairs to settle in with a journal and strong coffee. Torchwood would have to wait for him to finish his cuppa and shower, and hopefully rouse Holmes.

 

Merlin could hardly believe that all of this was accomplished without the use of magic. He’d read about the rumours of Roman technology, that there were ways of heating even the floors, though Gaius had been unable to explain to him how it was possible. He’d been sceptical about it then, but had to believe it now, because there was absolutely no trace of magic in any of those he’d come across yet, with the exception of course of his older self. Apparently hanging about with Kilgarrah was a bad influence on him.

Bloody infuriating lizard, he _knew_.

Of course that brought him back to the rather troubling conversation with himself, and the implication that he was at least partly responsible for tearing a hole in reality, which was definitely Not Good.

This was about the point that he’d usually consider seeking out the druids, Lancelot, or Gwaine. Unfortunately this time he was stuck with two men he barely knew, only one of whom seemed inclined to trust him, and who apparently had no exposure to magic, in a land he didn’t understand.

Great.

 

**********************************************************************

 

Torchwood SUV

“No, no, no…” Jack turned towards Tosh’s muttering, “What? What is it?”

“The energy signal, it’s moving.”

“That bastard.” Jack sighed, exasperated, “Ok, which way is he going? If it is _Emrys_ we’ll only catch up to him when he _wants_ us to.”

Toshiko frowned, “So what do we do?” Jack looked over at her, “Follow him of course, even if he doesn’t have the answers we need I guarantee he has _some_ information.”

Tosh searched Jack for any sign that he might be joking before blowing out and exasperated breath. “Ok, follow your _old friend_ it is. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Jack didn’t answer. His team would believe almost anything these days, Torchwood stripped away so many layers of certainty that members _had_ to adapt; and yet some certainties ran so deep that disbelief still controlled people, some lessons were devastating, and even _Toshiko_ , the gentlest of them, wouldn’t react well to the mention of _magic._  The best that he could hope for really was for them to be condescending and patronise Emrys, and taking into account the Rift activity of the past couple of days, Jack was willing to bet that his friend’s patience was thin today. He cringed.

 

Merlin could have cheated the rain and teleported, but that would have been less effective than a constant trail, he knew well enough by now that he ‘leaked’ magic.  Not that it was a huge problem these days in terms of being tracked, but there were a _few_ agencies and individuals able to track that type of energy trail. He could draw them off for his younger self. While Merlin found a way to accept himself as Emrys, and Holmes untangled their problem.  

Realising that Captain Harkness would have brought whichever vehicle he was currently using, he elected to vary walking with the underground. Rail was easy to track, but was faster, and walking gave him less predictability of movement.

One of the good things about London’s lack of sense regarding appropriate business hours was that it meant always being able to find decent food. One of the advantages of this era, that, although he could very well feel how delicate the Balance had become on this planet and how the Earth must soon try to correct it. Still, for now he revelled in the abundance, something his younger self would be finding utterly foreign, not being accustomed to plentiful food, or fridges. He found himself a pleasantly warming breakfast that could be eaten on the go, paid in cash, and kept moving.

He could feel the younger Warlock’s mind now, becoming more aware and instinctively feeling for him, he set up an amused block. ‘Just Merlin’ couldn’t break into the mind of a whole and undivided Emrys.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

“Aaargh!” Merlin was frustrated and felt like punching something, possibly himself.

He felt the ripple of amusement as he lost the connection.

“Why here? Why _now?”_ He was trying very hard to ignore the fact that he was partially responsible for punching a hole in time, and that he in fact had that potential. Never drinking again with Gwaine suddenly seemed far more important. All he had to do now was get back to...well however long ago it was… and tell the bastard that, so that he could be mercilessly mocked by his so called friend and banned from another tavern.

 

Sherlock looked him over and cocked an eyebrow at his outburst. “Frustrated?”

Merlin glared at him and received a smirk in response.

“No, whyever would you think _that_?”  As Holmes opened his mouth to respond in kind to the biting sarcasm in the boy’s tone John joined them, fresh from the shower and clean shaven.  Mary still occasionally joked about the moustache he’d sported, and Sherlock had his bloody mind palace to store images.

“Ah, John, good. _You_ speak to him. Before I am forced to do something regrettable.” Merlin couldn’t quite suppress the snort.  John felt his heart sink slightly, scoffing at a Holmes was rarely a good idea. As expected Holmes smirked at his guest and cocked a eyebrow. “You may think highly of yourself and your...abilities..but you would do well to remember _Merlin_ , that you are in a city you barely know, one which we now intimately, and much further away from home than John here would believe. Kill me if you want, but you’ll still be stuck here, and without a guide.”

Merlin mentally counted, imagining Sherlock as the Prat  on a bad day, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, not noticing as the light bulbs around them exploded. John did.

Opening his eyes and nodding his agreement to Holmes’ argument, flawed as his assumptions were he was met with John’s shocked expression and unconscious check for his weapon (absent, Merlin knew), and Sherlock watching him with narrowed eyes.

“Well, as appealing as such a world sounds I suppose it would be a bit premature. I usually wait until someone tries to kill my friends to kill them back.”  He was matter of fact about it. If they were to be allies they should at least know the boundaries he’d cross; and for all the suggestion of buzzing was that killing of any kind was illegal here, it wasn’t as though he was planning to stay long.

Sherlock’s sudden grin was a surprise. “At least Mycroft wouldn’t approve of you.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “ _Please_ , no-one _approves_ of me. Well, maybe two people, I don’t think Mum would count. Not that I actually _try_ to repel humanity.”

“Your wardrobe of yesterday would suggest otherwise.”  Merlin scowled. Why did these rich prats never seem to grasp that decent clothes required adequate payment?

“No matter. you were given more suitable attire by Emrys. If you plan on solving the problem we are presented with I suggest you use it. Now.”

As he slammed the bedroom door to go and put on the unfamiliar garments as directed, Merlin caught John’s voice asking why Sherlock always had to irritate his brother deliberately.   _Fuck_ , he groaned.

What was it with nobles and ridiculous sibling rivalries?  No one else seemed to feel the need to play battle-chess with their family, not that he’d much personal experience of families but still…

***********************************

 

Emrys had been avoiding old friends for a while now. It was always difficult to know how much could be safely shared in certain company. He knew where he was going, but after spending much of his off-time in the company of dragons his ability to communicate in the most obscure ways had improved greatly. They had time, for now. For once he allowed himself a true smile; he could afford to take a detour round some old haunts. Obscure and meaningless to anyone else, but Jack would understand. He’d know _which_ Merlin he was following, and he’d be prepared.

 

In the SUV and London traffic Toshiko was fast losing her patience as the energy trail continued in an incoherent pattern. Jack had been tight-lipped for the last half hour since the source began to zig-zag about. At last he broke the mounting tension with an exasperated sigh.

“Fuckit. Forget the trace, Tosh. I know where he’s going, we’ll go wait for him. Patiently. When he turns up you can flip a coin to slap him.”

She glared at him, eyes flashing daggers for a minute.  

“Fine.” She trusted Jack’s judgement, but kept the app open just the same.

 

As the quietness settled again Ianto shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Jack?” he asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?”

“Is he going where I think he is?”

Jack looked over, noting the coiled tension in his partner. London held a great deal of conflicting memories for both of them.

“Yes Yan. Canary Wharf. Torchwood was built on the rift. The rift does not move just for human convenience. I need you at your best today, we can’t afford pointless distractions.”

Ianto forced himself not to bristle at the reference to his trauma as an inconvenience. He knew the truth of Jack’s words, but it still felt _wrong_ not to argue.

“You’ll have none.”

Jack nodded a silent acknowledgement and concentrated on the roads.

 

By the time Merlin Emrys approached the Torchwood team they were practically vibrating with tension, none of them happy with the day’s events so far.

He allowed his eyes to flash as he raised a shield, and a cloak to hide them all from casual view, and saw the way the petite woman’s eyes opened slightly, the twitch of the dark haired leather-clad one’s fingers towards an absent weapon. Good. He hated having to disarm people before they could deal. It was nice of Captain Harkness to leave the weapons, pointless as he knew them to be.

His gaze swept over them, a brief assessment. He smiled as he caught the surly glare of a young Welshman, arms crossed, clearly closer to _Jack_ than any of the others.

“You always did like the pretty ones Jack, Oh don’t worry, I approve.  Possessive one, isn’t he?” Merlin winked at Jack, who smirked.

_“Emrys_.” It wasn’t quite a tone of command.

Merlin rolled his eyes, _“Jack.”_ The air seemed to go fizzy around them.

“As if I’d interfere Harkness. _I_ don’t share well, we already know that. You’ll know where to find me in a few decades.  So are you going to introduce me to your team or not?”

His features softened somewhat, of course he knew better than to orchestrate a meeting without gathering _some_ information on the others first, but he’d much prefer to know what they told him about themselves. Jack might know better than to lie to him now, but the others had no reason to trust him. Unfortunately for them he had long since refined his patience, and very little intimidated him these days.

Gwen appeared to be the most volatile of the team; he’d never had much luck with Gwen’s.

Owen might be the most openly hostile and abrasive, but he was stable and hostile, Gwen was emotionally motivated, internally conflicted, had too many variables.

Ms Sato was clearly the most rational of all of them, but evidently did not trust anyone outside of the team, and most definitely wouldn’t accept magic easily.

 

Jack raised an eyebrow. “If you didn’t look us up you’re slipping, Emrys.”

Ianto looked visibly startled as Gwen turned to Jack, “Wait, ‘look us up’? I thought that was supposed to be impossible, Jack!”

He shrugged. “It is, almost. As you may have noticed, Torchwood has recently become a lot more visible, but even before that Emrys was part of the elite when it came to finding people. Isn’t that right?”

By now Merlin Emrys was standing at ease, observing for the most part. “Aww, now that’s not fair Jack, I thought we were passed using titles. _Captain._ ”

It was both a dare and a prompt.

“You really want to do this?” Jack stepped forward and rested a hand lightly on Merlin’s shoulder.

He shrugged. “Not really, Harkness, but it may as well be sooner than later, saves time. Besides, it’s hardly more shocking than _your_ party trick, and _of course_ I looked them up. Even on a bad day I’m not that sloppy.”

‘ _This time’_ he added to himself.

 

“Ok, if you’re sure.” Jack looked as unconvinced as he sounded.

“Guys, I need you to forget a lot of what you believe right now, or at the very least suspend it. Emrys is a title. Like Lady, Lord, Doctor, or Captain- only much rarer than any of those. Emrys has a birth name, and he tends not to use it for good reason. Ianto Jones, Owen, Tosh, Gwen; meet Merlin. The same Merlin from the legends, and a good friend of mine in some seriously grim situations. Oh- andmagicisreal.”

The silence that followed was unnaturally complete.

After a few moments though Tosh began to question if there was any way that Jack might have been poisoned or otherwise compromised, Gwen began to express outrage at Jack’s poor idea of a joke, and Ianto remained notably quiet.

It was Owen who noticed and drew attention to the tiny demonstration.

“Hey guys? Guys! Shut up. Look around us. It’s not just quiet, we’re the only sound. No birds, no traffic, or voices, it’s wrong. Look, that bird, there! It’s not moving but it’s not falling out of the air. This is fucked up. I don’t care what you all say about magic, it’s not real, but something is way fucking off here. More than rogue time agent off.”

Emrys folded his arms and grinned at Owen. “Thanks. That makes this a lot easier, although ‘fucked up’ isn’t how I’d describe it. This sort of thing is as much a part of the fabric of reality as your Rift. The only difference from usual is that this time you can _see_ it.  There was a time you were ignorant of the existence of time travel or the existence of other sentient species. This morning you were ignorant of the existence of magic.  Now you know better.”

Owen just shook his head and glanced towards Jack for confirmation. “Fucking hell.I do not get paid enough for this shit.”

Jack grimaced and rolled his eyes, “Oh, so a resurrection glove or death-by- orgasm tourist is perfectly reasonable, but manipulation of matter? _That_ is crossing the line?”

Owen shrugged. “Have to draw one somewhere.” He muttered.

 

Toshiko controlled the tremor in her hands and stepped forward. “Shut up. All of you.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, “You. How did you do it? What do you _do?”_

Merlin Emrys had always _hated_ that question. He hated it in Camelot, and he hated it now.

“I don’t know. Instinct mostly. Sometimes I use words verbally or mentally for the sake of precision. It’s always just happened though. Things with life are easiest, or elements.”

Toshiko nodded. “How long have you been manipulating energy?”

Emrys held her gaze, “My whole life.” He ground out.

Tosh shook her head frustrated, “That’s not what I meant, I mean..” Emrys held up a hand sharply, “I know. It’s the answer I am giving you. I’m not here for you to interview.”

“Then tell us, what _are_ you here for.” Came a tight, controlled voice from Jack’s right hand.

Merlin grinned, too widely to be real thought Ianto. “Exactly! Good question Ianto Jones. I am here because I need to be. I am also here as a warning. Back off. You have no idea what you are interfering with, it is so much bigger than you, and if you ignore me, do it anyway, you could very well end reality as you know it, not that you’d live long enough to realise that of course. Merlin- the Merlin who has always been _here_ , but not _now_ until yesterday- will seek you out when he’s ready. With two others, and believe me, I’ve no intention of getting in the middle of _that_ pissing competition.  Well, lovely to meet you all, but I have some old acquaintances to chase up.” He turned and grabbed Jack’s shoulder on the way, drawing him close enough to avoid his lips being read.

“Just this once Jack, _listen_ to me. Please. It’s not something that you lot can fix, and if you try, he never will find out how to actually do it in time. You could unravel this reality irrevocably. Not even _he_ could help. Promise me.”

Harkness was clearly unhappy about the demand, but he knew well enough when to take Emrys seriously, and what happened when his understanding was ignored. He gritted his teeth and blew out a breath slowly. “Ok, we try it your way first. If that doesn’t work…” Jack raised an eyebrow. He could see Emrys eyes burning. His old friend withdrew a phone from his pocket, without any numbers. “Call me before you try doing anything stupid. Even I cannot reform the multiverse on a whim. Not if you take out a dimension or two. If you need me, call. I’ll get it. And _that_ _is_ an untraceable phone. Until next time, Jack.”

As Emrys turned and strode away, seeming to vanish, the cries of birds, and background noise of traffic and people resumed, the team let out a collective sigh of relief. Silence for a minute, before a string of expletives turned the air almost blue.

“Are you seriously just going to let him walk away Jack? After dragging us all the way here for Cardiff?”

He almost glared at Gwen, saved from it only by Owen’s interruption, “Oh come on Gwen, what the fuck would we do with him? He just fucking stopped _time_ to make a fucking point, and knew about Jack. Somehow I doubt that taking him in an SUV and locking him up in a bloody cell would work. Grow up.”

Jack smirked at just the wrong point as Owen rounded on him, “And _you!_ You owe us an explanation mate, We all know you’ll fuck anything with a pulse, and usually none of us care, but you _remember_ him, and your exes all seem to be fucking psychopaths.”

“Hey, now that’s not fair. Not about my preferences obviously, but most of them were perfectly reasonable people. Hardly homicidal at all.”

Toshiko snorted, “Now we _know_ you’re lying. What? Most reasonable people don’t go home for one night stands with strangers these days.”  
“After your own affairs I suggest you reserve your judgement Ms Sato.” Jack’s eyes flashed. He did tend to stay out of his team’s liaisons, until they interfered with work, and then it became his business. “Emrys and I go a long way back, and forward, though he hasn’t been there yet. Believe me, he has reason to avoid weapons, and though we have disagreements he has more than earned my respect. And yours.  He’s human, or close enough, native to Earth, and has abilities he describes as magic. You saw the demonstration. So, boys and girl, this time we are going to listen, and watch things very, very closely.”

He pulled his usual phone and turned from his team, “Hello, Mycroft. Yes. No. No, I didn’t expect to be speaking to you so soon either. Mycroft...My...SHUT UP! Finally. Thank you, now that you are so kindly paying attention, I thought it would be courteous to tell you the Torchwood will be remaining in London for now. No. NO. Oh for fuck sake, _Mycroft!_ Code _Camelot_ . Camelot is live and primed…. Well yes, I thought you should know too, that’s why I was _attempting_ to tell you. Fine..no...fine...Bye. Goodbye Mr Holmes.”

Captain Jack Harkness gathered his self control and pushed down the urge to scream, wishing that there was a current equivalent for slamming down a receiver.   He always did have a problem with authority, and Mycroft Holmes was particularly irritating. It was kind of Merlin to remember though to shut off the cameras to irritate the man. He never did like being watched.

Sherlock might be an arrogant, abrasive bastard much of the time, but he was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than Big Brother.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

Merlin was staring at his reflection in the clearest mirror he’d ever seen. What Gwen and Morgana wouldn’t do for one of these! Or the ridiculous number of creams, perfumes, and soaps in their bathroom, most of which confused him.

He’d intended to shave, but decided at the last moment to keep the slight stubble, the stubble was at least _one_ difference in his appearance and that of Emrys.

The clothes were unfamiliar and confusing. Such soft cloth would have cost a small fortune at the market, yet he could not identify it on texture alone. He absolutely _knew_ that Sherlock’s attire was the current equal of Prince Arthur’s, but John’s wasn’t. If he hadn’t gleaned enough to realise that servants were an oddity here, he would have assumed John Watson to occupy a similar position to himself. The only thing that was decidedly uncomfortable were the socks, which were thin and wrong, but overall it was a major improvement.

There was no point in standing around though, when clearly there was a problem to solve.

 

He slinked into the kitchen, light taking him by surprise, it was rarely light in the castle.

Never in Gaius’ home.

Breakfast. Food seemed to be easier to find in this world; he reconsidered that analysis when he looked in Holmes’ ‘fridge’. “Um, Sherlock? Are the eyeballs in here on purpose?” He looked around, finding very little that he actually recognised.

An affirmative sounded from the living room, followed by Watson’s exasperated sigh.”I thought you were going to get rid of those.”

Holmes ignored him, “Mrs Hudson had an extra soother last night, there will be plenty of spare baked goods, John can bring some up. Oh, and John, this time don’t touch her brownies. I refuse to spend another day listening to you giggle like an adolescent girl, suggest which insect-race would be better masters, and waxing lyrical about women’s breasts. Some things even _I_ cannot delete.” John reddened and bit back his usual sarcastic response, hastily following Sherlock’s directions, he’d deal with the eyeballs later.

Merlin sank onto the dingy sofa. Brownies sounded like something Gwaine would enjoy trying.

They did not sound like breakfast.

He was hardly unaccustomed to going without but it didn’t mean he was happy about the prospect. Sherlock must have seen the thoughts flitting across his face, “Oh relax, there will be scones out, it’s Thursday. Wednesday is a double herbal soother night. She always bakes then.”

Merlin groaned internally, he hated being easy to read emotionally, but his only other option was the persona of battle hardened Warlock. He really, really wanted future him or parallel him to be wrong. There didn’t seem to be a logical basis for wanting to inflict further damage on himself though. Dammit. Where was a distraction when he needed one.

Sherlock had gone back to ignoring him, apparently absorbed in the black thing he was tapping. He closed his eyes and reached for the word, only to come up against shields that resembled a druids. Sherlock had protected his mind, and it startled a gasp from the younger man. The detective smirked. “No one is going rifling through my mind palace Merlin. If you have questions, you may ask them, verbally. If you want our help, stop trying to violate us.” Merlin froze. He hadn’t ever considered it that way, but he could certainly see how that might be perceived as such now. “Sorry”, he mumbled, blushing as though caught eavesdropping where he ought not to be. Sherlock nodded an acknowledgement. “What did you want to know?”

Merlin hesitated before responding. “What is it that you are so focused on? I’ve never seen such a thing.”

Holmes snorted, “Of course you haven’t. Until yesterday you hadn’t seen electricity or running water inside either. I’m doing research. You ought to be impossible, and _he_ could rip the world apart crossing his own timeline so recklessly.”

Merlin remained quiet. He may know nothing yet of the rules of time, but he knew very well that such powerful magic was not to be used or tampered with lightly. His other self must have thought it was worth the risk, so what was the reason, he would dearly like to know.

 

John brought in two plates, piled high with scones and bread, still grumbling. Merlin grimaced, apparently John Watson was about as happy about early mornings as Arthur was.

Dammit, Arthur. If he was here longer, would he be absent the same length of time in his own home, or would time pass differently. Kilgarrah was going to get a reaming after this.

“Any luck?” John asked, the smell of strong coffee drifting from the kitchen apparently serving to perk him up.

“Not enough.” Sherlock answered.

“Where are you from, Merlin?” John did a double take. Sherlock never had to ask.

Merlin shrugged. “Depends what you means.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Birthplace, and current place of residence. You are something new. You do not fit any of the possibilities. We cannot return you to an unknown location. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give us a tooth?”

Merlin stared open mouthed. “NO. Definitely, absolutely not. I don’t go around handing out body parts, although granted it’s usually a hair, or blood they want. In a couple of truly bizarre cases semen, but never, _ever_ teeth. What can you do with a tooth anyway?”

Apparently missing anything unusual in Merlin’s casual listing of sought after body parts and fluids Sherlock answered him calmly, “Take it to the lab of course. Molly can test it to identify where you grew up, what type of diet you ate etc cetera, and we return you there. Either it works, or we have a point of progress to go from.”

Merlin glared, “The answer is still no.”

“But it hardly hurts at all.”

“No, Sherlock. Not now, not ever, and don’t even think about stealing it from me in my sleep or I swear I’ll steal your own.”

Sherlock pouted. Merlin had seen Arthur Pendragon pout, and Gwen’s kicked puppy look. He was immune to puppy-dog looks now. Well, mostly. Like now.

“No.”

Seeming to finally accept the answer he’d been given, Sherlock began pacing.

“Well, that is most uncooperative of you, but I suppose we’ll have to find alternatives. No point in checking the NYS database since you’ve existed here for less than two days. Not Mycroft.

Wait- the tunic. Was the wool imported or local?” Merlin snorted, “local of course, I’m hardly nobility to afford that sort of needless luxury.”

“Good, the lab it is then, we’ll pick up Molly Hooper on the way.”

Merlin swore under his breath, ignoring the smirk that crossed Sherlock’s face, “You’re going to make me go in one of those ‘cars’ again, aren’t you?” John couldn’t quite cover his initial confusion, “Maybe a little. Not the same one of course, the license plate will have been tracked by now, a _friend_ will return it for me. We’ll take a cab this time. Come on John, and don’t forget the disgusting clothes..” Merlin and John both glared at Holmes’ back, and he carried on oblivious, slinging his belstaff on. The younger man reminded himself that this barely counted as an insult given what the Prat, and his evil sister threw his way.

With a sigh he slung on the jacket that Emrys had brought him, slightly comforted by recognising the material, at least leather still existed, and followed the two natives, reminding himself not to under any circumstances, look up. Not least because it would look suspicious enough that one man had entered and effectively two had left.

Emrys was right, his blocks needed work, because even when he _could_ block thoughts, he found others leaked their emotions shamelessly. Really it was just rude. He wondered if that was as distracting to the druids. Then winced at the thought of what he may have been broadcasting accidentally.

Molly was there waiting for them when they finally reached her ‘flat’, apparently ready to leave for what Sherlock had referred to as ‘the lab, dressed in practical garments that Merlin thought far better suited to performing experiments and general mobility than what he was accustomed to seeing women in. He smiled, considering what the knights would say if they saw such a thing. A woman who worked no fields and yet had short sleeves, and breeches for shame! The different standards never made much sense to him. Here, it made perfect sense that a woman who was _educated_ properly, taught more than householding and embroidery, would break other social ‘rules’ from his world. He still couldn’t think of _this_ as his world, and it was too overwhelming to reflect for more than a moment that it was his future, or at least a possible future, provided his absence didn’t result in Morgana razing Albion to the ground. He grit his teeth and shut that thought down ruthlessly. He had to stay focused and grounded for now. He realised that he’d missed some of the conversation, though there was enough tension in the air that he rather thought that might be a good thing.

Molly grabbed a red coat from the rack and stalked out of the door, apparently expecting Holmes to follow her, the first time Merlin had seen or heard him follow anyone else. The brief ride to a place called ‘Bart’s’ left him feeling awkward, and by the way John shifted in his seat he suspected the other man felt the same.

Still trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone else, and not be seen by ‘cameras’  he trailed along with John Watson, much the way that he was accustomed to doing in Camelot really.  Molly turned and _commanded_ them all to wait here, until she had signed in and checked for any interns and interlopers, leaving three grown men behind in a corridor wondering how such a tiny woman could bring them to heel like the British Government itself couldn’t. She was efficient though, and barely four minutes later Holmes’ phone buzzed with a confirmation of the all clear.

Entering through heavy doors that unlocked only with a code, Merlin stepped into what he recognised as the ‘Lab’ Holmes had spoken about, though it didn’t resemble any that Merlin had ever seen. There were no herbs or roots, no scorch marks, no  piles of musty books. He looked around carefully, sighing in relief as he spotted elaborate glass equipment and test tubes, vials and droppers. Bottles marked with danger level warnings were also familiar, and he let go of an anxiety he hadn’t realised he was holding onto, about whether they were going to take him  to the stated place. It allowed him to risk engaging more, and suggested that the men weren’t intending to take him to the authorities, if they were running the gauntlet to do _this._

He blushed hotly as he heard clearly Molly’s reaction to their appearance, though she gave no indication in her outward demeanour, which both impressed and disturbed Merlin, who had seen too much of such performances at Court to ever trust it.

He cleared his throat, trying to make sure that it wouldn’t sound as hoarse as it should in response to seeing the creative fantasies. “Sherlock? Is it safe to look up yet? It’s getting a little irritating looking down all the time.”

Holmes rolled his eyes, “Yes, well you haven’t exactly kept your head down, have you. Did better than most, although all that _really_ means is you have better preservation instincts than most- or that you have a lot more reason to hide.”

Molly averted her gaze, clearly both accustomed to Holmes’ manner, and reading when his conversations contained a message meant for someone else. In a way it was a bit like he and Morgana in front of others, but without the homicidal overtones.

Assuming that meant there was no point in ducking his head at this point, and pride stinging Merlin glared back, feeling his magic rising up and automatically trying to pull it back, realising just as he began that this was exactly what Emrys had been talking about, and swallowing hard shoved it deep into the earth instead, glad as the floor trembled slightly that they were not on a higher floor..

“Oh I am _so done_ hiding.” He couldn’t quite keep the growl from his tone. Return Magic to the land indeed.

A silvery laugh sounded in the back of his mind, _Better the land than in time or rifts._

_You are learning young Warlock._

He groaned. Not Kilgarrah, but definitely draconic. Dismay warred with joy at the confirmation that the Great Dragon was not the last of his kind, relief overriding both.

_‘And you are?’_

_‘Not hatched yet for you, you will know who I am when it is the right time.’_

Merlin ran a hand through his hair and huffed in frustration. Yep. Definitely a dragon.

 

Sherlock was speaking again, “...and I’ll need a full analysis of the fibres and dyes used. Anything you can get from it to narrow the area we need to look.”

Molly was nodding along, “Need any bloods or urine tests done? May as well get them all on at once.” Sherlock smirked.

“My friend here has some _religious objections_ to having blood taken, but I certainly can’t think of a reason to avoid the others.”

Merlin reigned in his temper, used to having to control is around smug prats, and knights at times, “This is because I wouldn’t let you have that tooth, isn’t it.”

“Of course not. This is to check you are not drugged, insane, and because you are irritating me.”

The younger man snorted,  “Prick.”

John chuckled. “You lasted a lot longer before calling him out on that than I did mate.”

Merlin groaned, “Life lesson, find out who someone is before calling them on their prattishness. Can land you behind bars if you don’t.”

Molly was looking at him strangely, as though seeing him for the first time. He considered trying the innocent- idiot act on her and discarded it quickly. She clearly wasn’t fooled by shallow facades, saw through Sherlock’s, and girls who attached themselves to risk- friendly men were usually targeted or caught in crossfire, like Gwen. Except that Gwen, for some reason still believed the original mask he’d worn in Camelot, which grew more frustrating each day.

It was one reason he missed Will so much. He never really had to pretend, or be less than he was.

Of course now anyone who knew he wasn’t just an idiot servant expected an experienced, mature, practiced Great Warlock. Which wasn’t him either.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’d take it more seriously if you hadn’t also argued with thunder yesterday, or insulted Destiny.”

Molly suddenly seemed far more interested in the test results, curiosity peaked.

“Are you certain that you can’t let me test your blood, just to rule out certain toxins? You’d barely feel it. I don’t need much at all.”

Merlin scowled. “I’m sure. No bodily fluids that contain...” Dammit, he didn’t know the modern word, and Sherlock had locked his mind down tight, in panic he cast his mind around. Doctor, of course, Watson was a physician who leaked terribly. “Cells. No cells, enamel, um...or stuff. Nothing _traceable_ Dr Hooper.” Molly eyed him suspiciously but kept her comments to herself, apparently association with Sherlock Holmes brought out that trait in others, as well as the ‘don’t ask silly questions’ one. Convenient for him at least.

He caught Holmes rolling his eyes, “Yes, well, he isn’t really _supposed_ to be here.” Merlin suppressed a snort at the understatement. “Despite our friend’s amatuer dramatics here, a lack of paper trail would be somewhat useful. Don’t worry, it’s not going to be noticed.” He winked at the pathologist and Merlin caught a wave of surprise from John.

Apparently he’d missed the dynamic between them, despite noting the tension.

Merlin stifled a groan, he had no interest in another complicated courtship, or courtship avoidance, _that_ was one thing he considered an improvement. Not that he wasn’t happy for his friend and his Prince, but seriously, there were _some_ things a person should do themselves.

Thankfully the easy intimacy mostly evaporated as Watson cleared his throat and Sherlock spun and tossed Merlin a tube made of a strange material. It might be unfamiliar in appearance but he knew very well it’s purpose. After years with Gaius, and working the fields, there was very little that he was squeamish about, though it was strange having a woman present. If Molly had lived in _his_ time she might well have become a sorceress he thought. Or been recruited by the priestesshood.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Merlin’s momentary pause, “John, will you please escort Merlin to the nearest bathroom? See that he isn’t followed.”

John rolled his eyes, of _course_ it was up to him to babysit their acquired stray. Why couldn’t Holmes have stuck to cats like a normal crazy person? He went anyway, as Sherlock had known he would.  

The moment the door to the lab swung closed Molly turned on the Detective. “Talk. Now. I know you can’t tell me everything, but at least tell me what it is that you _need_ for this, and who this new _friend_ of yours is. He doesn’t seem to be a client.”

Sherlock’s features twisted in a grimace, “He isn’t. Not really.  Private case, and the first 9 in far too long. The mouthy kid is Merlin, and Molly Hooper, I _really_ need to know where that vile tunic has been. The real results, even if you think they are wrong.” He winked  at her and his fingers twitched briefly. Molly sighed,

“I’d ask you not to do anything dangerous but it’s pointless, so just promise me you’ll be dangerous carefully, ok? I’ll run the fibres but it looks like a standard shirt to me. Maybe a bit roleplay- y but he can’t be 20 yet so I guess that’s not especially weird?”

Sherlock chuckled ruefully, “If you’re still saying that when the results come in I will buy you one of those ridiculously overdressed, high strength coffees you like. Without prompting.”

Molly’s brow brow rose, “Done. I’ll expect a proper piece of chocolate cake with it too if I’m supposed to put these through off the books.” Before Sherlock could answer the others returned, one smirking and the other glaring.

Calmly he handed over the required sample to Molly before turning to John, barely restrained fury in his gaze, “Emrys said I had to listen to Holmes and fix this. He didn’t say _anything_ about _you._ You haven’t earned the right to ask me _anything_ about my past. I haven’t asked or pushed about _your_ losses, sacrifices, scars but I’m _not_ some fragile princess for you follow around or a damsel to _protect_.” He almost spat the word.

A muscle in John’s jaw twitched and his fist clenched, the words reaching wounds he usually managed to cover. Actually the only ones to recognise it in _him_ had been the Holmes brothers, and other veterans. That someone barely out of his teens, if that, could so accurately identify it stung. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but John Watson had never been the type to avoid conflict.

“No, distressed damsels usually have _manners_ , you, _you’re_ worse than Sherlock! I am trying to help, because you seem to lack basic survival instincts and knowledge about things that you can’t _not_ know without head injury.”

Merlin spun, his eyes flickering, “I haven’t told my best friend half of my secrets, I’m damn well not going to be sharing with someone I don’t know, and my _feelings_ aren’t relevant. To my task, or to _you.”_

John’s fists clenched tighter. “Fine, but don’t expect my help next time you want it.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “If you are all _quite done_ wasting time bickering and posturing? John, Merlin is correct, his feelings are irrelevant.” Merlin huffed. He knew that feelings were necessary, but also that they cannot be allowed to interfere in quests. That way lies madness. Which when one’s sanity is as taxed as his, was not wise.

Sherlock was talking again, “SO, feelings shall be put in a box, tightly tucked away. I want you to visualise the box, seal it tightly, label it, and create a room for storing the boxes. You are going to begin developing an equivalent to my mind palace, as Emrys has stated you need.”

Molly gasped. “Emrys? Emrys and Merlin?” She pressed her lips together. “The fibres. I’ll put a rush on it Sherlock.” The consulting detective’s lips turned up, she understood, his clever Molly.

“I should have the results for you this evening. They're natural obviously, lower quality, made to be hard wearing rather than for aesthetics, more than that I can't tell yet, though I am sure you can.”

“mmm. If I am correct, and I usually am, then the dye is one that has not been in common use for centuries. Either someone is _very_ committed to the authenticity of their role play, or it _is_ authentic.”

Molly frowned “No textile that old would still be wearable, even if someone would willingly wear it. Any fabric would need environmental controls and be a museum piece, especially with those repairs.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow,  “Indeed.”

Merlin looked uncomfortable as he watched them from the corner of his eye, “I’m still here. Museums have vaults, yes? Archives. Locks, guards, that sort of thing. No one goes to that trouble to retrieve an old work-shirt.”

Molly didn’t hesitate, this was _her_ space. “No one innocent refuses all possible tests that might identify them. Who’s database are you in? Why are you running? You know what, don’t tell me, if I don’t know, I can’t tell them when they turn up. Go on. Out. I can’t hide you in the freezers. Sherlock, I’ll send you the results.” He handed her a burner phone.

“Nothing from your number. The only one you need to contact is already in that.”

Molly smiled softly, “Of course it is. If you go to my flat don’t eat everything, and remember crisps aren’t lunch, the kid looks half starved.”

From the two men the comment would have grated, but from the tiny pathologist, Merlin found it was infuriatingly caring. Entirely too like Gwen. He had damn near starved during several winters, and gone without enough to know the difference, and get pissed off when people who didn’t _know_ hunger treated it lightly. Instead of snapping he pushed away from the wall to be more visible

“Oi! Not a kid, not starving, not deaf thanks.”

“Feed him Sherlock, then do whatever mad thing it is the three of you are planning.”

John snorted, “Planning is really a very generous term right now, but I’ll do my damndest to keep them both alive.”

“We’re not going back to your home Molly. It’s bad enough we’re here.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Please, Mycroft’s been watching the place since the first time we… um, since he realised you visited.”

John smiled falsely, “Another good reason for us to avoid it then, perhaps later. Much later.”

Molly hummed an acknowledgement. “Alright. Good luck losing the tail then, and John, stop trying to start an argument. I see enough dead bodies as it is.”

Apparently dismissed, Sherlock, Merlin, and John Watson traipsed out of the lab without the usual drama that accompanied such visits, leaving by a side exit.

“So what now?” John looked to Sherlock.

“Now we disappear, and _he_ practices control until I get results back from Dr Hooper, you are going to get some dark sunglasses. Then we choose our allies. Merlin, close your eyes, they keep flickering, keep walking normally and I promise you won’t crash.”

Merlin bit back the retort he’d have thrown back at Arthur or Gwaine, he might not be particularly graceful when he couldn’t let his magic flow, but seeing with his eyes closed? He’d been doing that since he was 3 winters and scared of the dark. His mum had been torn between skelping him, and hugging him to her as he innocently explained that there was no reason to be scared anymore. It was just as well she had no idea that he could accidentally punch holes in reality, he was doing his utmost to not panic about that himself. He needed to find his way back, and that meant finding out how the fabric of the world was woven together, he never thought he’d be glad of the variety of repairs in he’d been required to develop a skill in doing neatly. He had a theory, but it was far from polished, and he doubted it could be accomplished alone, even if it were possible, it wasn’t _supposed_ to be, and would require that he actually tap in to the surplus magic he always held back. Emrys was right. If he was to go back to Camelot at all, he could not go back as _just Merlin_ . Gods, where was Gwaine when you needed him for distraction and sanity.  He almost rolled his eyes as he heard Gwaine’s voice sigh. _The tavern, Merlin, the Rising sun, or a warm bed, obviously._

Right. Talking to himself. That was a bad sign, at least, he _thought_ it was supposed to be a bad sign, it was hard to keep track sometimes.

He subtly cast a disguising glamour, ignoring the muttered “Idiot” that drew from Sherlock, who clearly thought that everyone was an idiot.

“Sherlock, I need you to explain what you know of how things are connected, the knitting together of the world.”

He looked at Merlin, easier to deduce than his counterpart, but no less contradictory. “Ok then. Shut up and follow me. No questions.”

Merlin’s frustration burned in his chest. He hated not knowing. Gaius was right, he needed to work on his patience, he just never had time to do that, until now when he no longer had any option. He would wait, for now, but he had no intention of falling in line like a boot licker.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2

 

“John, how is you _basic_  physics?”

The doctor looked at his friend trying not to scowl, “Depends whether you mean ‘basic’ like a normal person really, or like _you_.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Childish. The type you must have learned once in school in order to study medicine. I can teach other things, but Mycroft had covered that with me before school age so I’ve really no idea where _begin_ .”  
_He_ was childish?! That was rich coming from the man who fully expected his landlady to tidy the flat. “Huh. How was Mycroft as a teacher?” John really couldn’t imagine that, certainly not the British government having the patience, or the young Sherlock being content to listen to him.

“Surprisingly good actually. It’s hardly his calling, but back then he was- well he did what others couldn’t. I want you to begin teaching Merlin here about the elements, states of matter and atomic bonds.”

Merlin was listening carefully. Some of the words he recognised, but much of it was unfamiliar, a stark reminder of just how foreign this world was to him. John was eyeing him uncomfortably, as he walked confidently with eyes closed. Using magic made it easier not to stumble into things, though the tendency had contributed to the credibility of his ‘lovable idiot’ side. The only ones who seemed disbelieving of _that_ were Gaius, Lancelot, and Gwaine. After one quest away from Camelot the carefree drunkard act had slipped, and so had his always- cheerful idiot mask. Those were _parts_ of them, not _fake_ , just… incomplete. Both were _more_ , and to be _seen_ even without declaring his magic was a relief, rare, but it kept him sane, just.

Elements were something he knew, but he got the impression that it meant something different here, and while it was unnerving, he found himself also looking forward to that.

John was still talking though, “Are you going to tell me why? He’s well past high school age.”

Sherlock looked towards his friend, “Your point is?”

“He _must_ know that. The kid- sorry, not-kid isn’t stupid.”

“Well of course he isn’t, but that doesn’t mean he went to school. You assume too much John, stop doing it, it’s annoying, and inefficient.”

_What’s high school?_ Thought Merlin, he was about to skim John’s ridiculously open mind when he remembered Sherlock’s earlier interpretation and sighed. It was clearly too obvious a thing to ask in front of John Watson.

“So are we going to Molly’s or to the Diogenes?”

Sherlock grimaced, “Well, much as I hate to further endanger Doctor Hooper, going to the Diogenes would mean explaining to my brother what is happening, not that he is unaware, but I doubt that Merlin here has any intention of being further exposed, or becoming documented.”

“No. No records. If they do happen though I think Emrys can probably burn them, or hide them, stealing wasn’t really Merlin’s preferred method of disposing of things, but it was an option, and future- him didn’t appear to have the same problem with ‘cameras’ and surveillance he did.

“Right, so Molly’s?”

“It does have acceptable tea now, and biscuits.”

“Cab?”

Sherlock shook his head, “Bus. Much as I _hate_ the vile things, they are less likely to be driven by operatives. Harder to fix.”

God, Sherlock would be insufferable after a bus ride, he always was, but John knew he was right about it being slightly more difficult to organise one that was falsified than a single cabdriver to Sherlock-knap them. Still, it was novel to be avoiding a new unofficial organisation.

“Just tell me you aren’t armed. Molly might not forgive you shooting _her_ walls.”

The look of horror and outrage on the detective’s face was comical, “I would _never_ shoot Molly’s walls!” Bizarrely, John knew it was true, he really wouldn’t. He’d poison _John_ without any concern with the antidote ready, break into anyone else’s home without a twinge of conscience, but Molly’s was somehow sacrosanct. It didn’t make sense to him, but then, the moral code of any Holmes seemed to be one that made sense only to them, and they had no care for the opinions of others on those ethics.

“Ok then, just know that it’s been a _long_ time since I did O-grade physics.”

Merlin shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his unfamiliar jacket, and gauged the threat level around them, Sherlock seemed to react less openly than John to anything potentially harmful, which while useful for going unnoticed and discreetly, was unhelpful to _him_ as he didn’t know the man well enough to read him.  

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem John, just take it from the modern era and you’ll blow his mind.” Sherlock smirked at Merlin as he spun and strode towards what looked like a metal pole.  

The warlock agreed with Sherlock. Safer or not, buses were abominations. Loud, crowded, rattly, with people jostling and arguing, and strange smells, and emotions of all sorts buffeting him from multiple sources.

Gods, he’d never complain again about a sore bum from a long day on a horse, at least _they_ had a vested interest in not totally pissing off the one who snuck them apples. Somehow he doubted that worked with buses.

It was difficult to remain alert to as the number of new _things_ confronting him was just overwhelming, more little boxes being tapped, obnoxious pulsing _noises_ from the back, someone talking to a person who wasn’t present, a toddler shrieking, and people were _everywhere_. There were more than he could have imagined.

Reaching his limit a few stops before Molly’s Sherlock slammed the button to stop and dragged merlin, who by now was nervously fidgeting, to the front and off with him, apparently trusting that John would be right behind them without prompting. He supposed that was fair, after all, Arthur did the same to him, and Merlin always was either in-step with or right behind him.

Sherlock looked thunderous, and Merlin wondered if he had similar issues with _too much_ data at once, catching the warlock’s wary glance he immediately smoothed out his expression to blandness. “Don’t.” He shut his eyes, regretting not biting his tongue. “Sorry. Which way?”

He couldn’t read the detective but followed silently as the two men native to this time slipped down side streets without comment, weaving through the human traffic and avoiding the cameras as much as possible.

John’s eyebrows shot up when Sherlock took out an actual set of keys to Molly’s apartment, clearly having assumed he’d just pick the lock, more than the fact that he possessed a key though, was the keyring attached which he could have sworn was the oxytocin molecule, he shook his head, probably just a Molly whimsy. It had to be.

His surprise was steadfastly ignored by the detective as he bounced up the stairs, throwing a low “Say nothing until the room is swept, _again_.”

His friend’s lips pressed into a thin line but he received two sharp nods in response. Merlin might not know _how_ they would be overheard, but he was familiar with scrying and listening charms, in the absence of magic use humans must have developed some kind of replacements. The communal water pump had become indoor plumbing and hot rain, the non-magical had advanced.

Sherlock paused to press his ear to the door, hearing no movement he unlocked and opened it, stepping cautiously into the hall, almost disoriented by finding it empty, as was the rest of the flat. The microphones were quickly found, two in the living room, one in each of the others, with the exception of the bathroom. Sherlock collected them together, placing them on the laminate floor, and destroying them all together, so that their listeners would not see them losing power one by one. He dropped the fragments in the kitchen sink and turned on the tap, allowing water to drown any remaining functional components.

“I thought they’d have stopped tapping this place by now.” He sighed.

“Right, both of you go and take off your shoes, she doesn’t allow them inside, Merlin, go and close the curtains then sit on the sofa, I’m going to get the poster from her bedroom, and John is going to explain the basics of the physical universe to you. I will be doing some research. When John decides you need a break, we’ll take one, and you will try and get into my mind.” He smiled at Merlin the way Arthur did just before he said the words ‘mace training’.

It did not sound like a positive prospect.

Merlin had seen the surface walls of his mind. It was the only mind in this new time so far that appeared secure, and that in itself was concerning; _he knew_ that people only secure something so well and protect it if they are aware of a threat, and it made sense that Sherlock was therefore aware of or had been exposed to such a danger.

So far he hadn’t encountered it, but it didn’t mean the threat was unaware of _him._

The older man was watching him, reading his body language, and Merlin had to concentrate to smooth it over as though Arthur had spotted him in an unguarded moment. He wasn’t even going to bother making up some shit for this pair, John might have bought it on his own, but he seemed to have a desire not to appear gullible that made him more aware when Sherlock was watching. Merlin got that, he tried not to be a complete idiot in ‘safe’ situations with Prince Arthur, not that it seemed to make any difference, but the point was that he consciously _tried_ , and he could see Doctor Watson doing the same. Sherlock might actually be able to use the bullshit to find the truth. Men like that unnerved him. Hel, _truth_ unnerved him- when it was pulled from _him_ anyway. He wondered if maye Gwaine could see some of the things that didn’t make sense, especially when he’d mentioned travelling through kingdoms that celebrated what was banned in Camelot. He was never sure enough to risk it though. Merlin couldn’t afford to lose another friend over his magic; or his lies.

Unfortunately ‘existence of potential threat’ also usually equated to ‘Emrys will inevitably be required to withstand the previously unknown threat, whether or not he prepares’.

Well, he’d done things both ways, and it was always easier to survive things intact with warning, Kilgarrah had taught him many painful lessons when he attacked Camelot, of which the value of knowing your strengths and vulnerabilities beforehand was only one.

He had finally managed to forgive Kilgarrah his brief reign of terror that left such lasting damage when he realised how similar the righteous anger was that fuelled his battle with Nimue, and the damage he’d wrought against followers of the old religion when he killed their High Priestess. They were as uninvolved as the common folk of Camelot, and as Kilgarrah had attacked Uther in vengeance, and an immediate threat, Merlin had attacked Nimue for the same reason. Wresting control of the power over life and death had been incidental, something he had only discovered existed days before, restoring Gaius had been a shock. If Kilgarrah had been able to raise one of the dragons, perhaps his spirit would have been eased without a Dragonlord’s order. Merlin doubted it, but there was a chance.

That was in the past now, he snorted as he realised there were now two different ‘pasts’, his personal one, and the one this pair knew, and didn’t _that_ just make it a whole lot more complicated. Actually _knowing_ what the future held had never been of benefit to anyone from all he could discern, though not knowing one’s past was a huge pain in the neck too. He rubbed the back of his neck. Slowing time had saved him many times, as had telekinesis, but it was an unconscious habit to rub at certain old injuries, even the those healed on the surface, or hidden with magic because _he wanted them that way_. Dammit, Sherlock’s eyes had narrowed.

Fuck. Would it be more suspicious to immediately stop of less, well now he was overthinking and _had_ to stop… and _there_ was the eyeroll. Honestly, he was almost beginning to miss Arthur’s reactions. At least _those_ he could predict! Almost without effort. It was only _difficult_ when it involved Gwen. Who he _loved_ but also made his life much, _much_ harder these days, honestly it was simpler when she had an awkward crush on him, and Gwen- well Gwen was just _not_ his type. Calm, kind, collected, sensible, caring and modest… and entirely too like his mother to be his something more.

Even _he_ had to admit to having a type. One of the things he seemed most drawn to was danger, but then there were so few people who actually _could_ have refused him should he push, he _needed_ someone unafraid to push back or challenge him, or who was magical themselves, otherwise he worried that his magic was an influence. The power imbalance always did bother him, even if partners were unaware of one. It was a pity that so many strong magic users were evil, or trying to kill him, and despite what _Emrys_ had said he wasn’t _that_ keen on serious risk in his lovelife.

 

Sherlock swung off the long coat that Merlin still envied, it was the closest thing to a cloak he’d seen all day, and hung it up. John stared after him. Sherlock was _never_ careful, he took up the maximum amount of space possible for a not particularly large man, “The cat, John, the cat. Toby has a grudge against the coat.” He sighed.

That was as much of an explanation as he was likely to get for any of Sherlock’s actions and more than for most. John pointed Merlin towards the sofa. “You. Sit.”

He closed the blinds and shut the curtains, turning on the lamp, “Won’t they be able to see the light and realise we’re here anyway?” asked the warlock. Sherlock didn’t look as he he spoke over John, “Molly suffers from migraines, we’ll be seen but anyone watching won’t think it unusual for the curtains to be shut during the day.” He shrugged.

It was more of a precaution than Merlin often had time for anyway. “Here, it’s… _cheerful_ ” He sounded revolted as he handed over the unnecessarily colourful periodic table, “But it’s accurate. John, the connections here are alway monitored, and Torchwood have toys even Mycroft won’t, you'll have to do without the internet for this, Molly would never need to look for such basic information and it would show as an obvious anomaly.”

John rolled his eyes, “ _Of course it would_. Having something useful would be too easy for you.”

Sherlock cast him an irritated look at the sarcasm, “You’re wasting time. Mary will still be there later, and she’d tell you to stop being an idiot and _help him_.”

“What, because you didn’t know about the solar system?” Sherlock shut his eyes for the threads of his patience, deleting a little too much of that whole topic had been a mistake and followed him, but he’d more than remedied it now. John had _no_ idea how the great, wide universe really worked. It was almost sweet.

Sherlock wasn’t actually keen to ruin the innocence. The heart he wasn’t supposed to have impeding it.

“Do it or leave, but if you do go it’s either straight into Mycroft’s arms or Captain Harkness’s, and neither of them offer hospitality you’d enjoy.”  
“Mycroft doesn’t scare me.” his friend muttered.

The younger Holmes raised an eyebrow, “Then you are stupider than you look, even in the orange christmas jersey. He should. If you never remember anything else about him, let it be that I wasn’t joking the first time.”

_The most dangerous man you’ll ever meet._

Then he’d met Moriarty, surely no one was more dangerous than him.

“You were a soldier John. Who do you think was moving the pawns?”

He glared heatedly, “I suppose you think that makes you the queen.”  
Sherlock looked up smirking, “I _know_ I’m the queen. Just be glad I like you and he hates to break my toys.”  
Most of his favourite toys were from Mycroft anyway, though he’d die before admitting it. He did enjoy winding John up, when his face turned that colour it was almost as good as his ‘I’m not gay’ rant. Of course he wasn’t, he wasn’t so picky as to _only_ like men. It was a pointless argument though, and really, Sherlock didn’t care who John fucked as long as he came back. John could deny it as much as he liked, but Mary Morstan and he had an understanding. They shared Watson, and it worked. he knew her background and held his peace, letting her have her new life, and she knew a part of John Watson _belonged_ to Sherlock Holmes and didn’t try own it. That’s _why_ they worked.

“Drama Queen maybe.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, John, You’re a terrible liar.”  The ‘r’s were rolled for effect as he grinned.

“And yet I’m alright with that. It’s a lot easier to remember your story if it’s the truth.”  
Well Merlin couldn’t disagree with that.

“Maybe if you’re simple.” Sherlock bit out.

“Ok boys, Time!” Merlin might enjoy the banter between knight, or with Arthur, but they were on limited time, and he was not going to watch the modern Arthur and Gwaine bitching until one of them stormed off.Thank the gods neither of them had swords, though from what the humble water pump had turned into he _really_ wanted to avoid seeing what had apparently _replaced_ the sword, with everyone running about without armour, they must have decided it was obsolete, or ineffective. It would be nice if Arthur realised swords didn’t work against magic, but that triggered the usual sick-guilt feeling of it being _his job_ to make the Prince realise that.

Sherlock smirked at John as though he’d won, and dropped into the chair. “Don’t disturb me until it’s time.” He  pressed fingertips together and closed his eyes, going deep into his mind palace and memory. Research indeed. At least this time they weren’t operating on different rules, and Sherlock was also following the low-tech while stationary thing.

“Well then, we’d better get started. Tell me, what do you know about science?”

 


End file.
